El Dorado
by Rapscallion7780
Summary: The Walking Dead: Season 3C. A new gate is installed at the prison; Rick's fears about letting Carl go along on a supply run are realized.
1. Chapter 1

**THE WALKING DEAD**

" **EL DORADO"**

 **CHAPTER 1**

As the morning sun rose above the West Georgia Correctional Facility, Rick Grimes spoke to his group living in Cell Block C, and then visited the Woodburians living in Cell Block D; he told both groups that he had a special announcement, and asked them to step out onto the courtyard. The two groups walked over to the set of aluminum bleachers and sat down. Rick stood before them, his jacket buttoned up to protect him from the cold breeze, but he had a grin on his face.

"Everyone, I have good news: last night Daryl came back with a deer."

The Woodburians looked over at Daryl Dixon, who stood a few yards alongside Rick. The gruff redneck had his Stryker Strykezone 380 crossbow slung over his shoulder, and he looked like he was staring down a bull moose preparing to charge him. One of the Woodburians started to clap, and he was joined by another, and then all of the Woodburians started applauding Daryl in appreciation for his successful hunt. The gruff redneck blushed and turned his head. Carol Peletier sat amongst Rick's group on the other bleachers; she smiled at Daryl's embarrassing reaction, but she covered it up with the palm of her hand before he noticed.

The applause died down, and Rick gave everyone the bad news:

"Unfortunately, the meat has to go to the work crew."

Everyone—especially the Woodburians—looked dumbfounded at Rick for a moment, and they started to grumble.

"I'm sorry. It was a tough call, but a necessary one," Rick explained. "Henry drafted a plan that uses the motor pool's side doors for the new gate, but the work crew needs to build up its strength first; we can't risk someone getting seriously hurt. Everyone will have oatmeal for breakfast, but the crew will have the deer meat for lunch and dinner."

The Woodburians shouts grew louder and some began to curse at Rick.

"My kids are starving!" a woman shouted.

"You call yourself a leader, Rick?" a man asked angrily.

"To hell with this prison! I say we go back to Woodbury!" another man shouted.

The man's suggestion was met with a roar of approval from his fellow Woodburians. John Boyd, the Woodburians' self-appointed leader, and who seemed to wear an Atlanta Braves baseball cap constantly, folded his arms across his chest and grinned. On the other bleachers, Rick's group sat in disbelief as they watched the Woodburians' rant, but Carl Grimes glared at the recent arrivals and muttered, "You ungrateful fuckers."

Rick took a few steps forward and raised his arms. "Okay, calm down. Calm down," he said.

The Woodburian's stopped shouting and Rick put his hands down. "I'm sorry. I know all of you are tired of three squares of oatmeal every day, my people are too. But this is the way it has to be. The work crew will rest up today, go over the plan, and tomorrow morning they'll put up the new gate. I'm just asking all of you to be patient for 48 hours. I'll be worth it, believe me."

The Woodburians grumbled amongst themselves until they nodded in agreement.

"Wait a minute," John said as he stood up with a hand raised.

"John, don't—" his wife Donna whispered as she took hold of his other hand.

John swatted Donna's hand away and glared at Rick. "Here's an easy command decision for you, Rick: Send Dixon out for some more deer."

John's comment brought a round of applause from the Woodburians, but Daryl stomped towards the bleachers and glared at the Vietnam veteran. "Hey! I ain't a damn deliver boy!" He shouted angrily. "If you want fast food, talk to the Korean!"

The Woodburians turned their anger towards Daryl again and he shouted back at them until Rick put his hand on his shoulder and eased him backwards. On the other bleachers, Glenn Rhee huffed at Daryl's statement. "Well, at least he got my heritage right this time," he muttered.

"You can't expect us to keep eating oatmeal when there's fresh meat!" a woman shouted at Rick.

"It was never this way with the Governor!" a man shouted as he stood up. "He saw to it that all of us had food!"

The Woodburians shouted in agreement and others stood up and pointed their fingers at Rick as they resumed shouting at him. On the other bleachers, Carl couldn't take seeing his father being insulted, so he stood up and shouted at the top of his lungs, "Shut up!"

The Woodburians stopped shouting and they—along with Rick's group and Rick himself—looked stunned at the boy in the weathered Stetson hat.

"My dad is a good man!" Carl shouted. "He was helping people long before all of…all of **this** happened! He was a policeman, and a bank robber shot him and put him in a coma! When the walkers appeared in our town we had to leave him in the hospital. I thought he was dead!"

A tear ran down Carl's face and he trembled. "…My mom thought he was dead too."

Rick, standing on the courtyard, lowered his head and remembered Lori, how she believed he died in that hospital too, and how her grief led her to Shane.

Carl wiped the tears from his face and looked up at the Woodburians again. "My dad found me and my mom with this group outside Atlanta, and he's led our group ever since. He never asked to be our leader, he became our leader. And do you know why?"

The Woodburians didn't reply but a few of them looked at each as if one of them was going to answer Carl's question.

" **Because no one else wanted to be our leader!"** Carl shouted. "Nobody ever wants to make hard decisions: where to go, where to find food and water, were to find medicine, who to trust, who to help, and when we have to fight. Those decisions mean life or death, and it takes a strong person to make them!"

"I don't agree with everything my dad has done; when brought you all back with him, I was angry, but I know he did it because all of you needed help. That's what a leader does!"

"What about your leader, the Governor? Did you all forget what he did? He murdered your friends! They believed in him, but he murdered all of them! Is that the kind of man you want as your leader?!"

The Woodburians were shamed by Carl's words, and they glanced down at their feet and shifted their posture uncomfortably.

"If you're going to want live with us in this prison, you better start listening to my dad and give him some respect! If you won't do that you can hit the road…go!" Carl shouted angrily while pointing his thumb over his shoulder. "Pack your bags and get out!"

Carl remained standing and the silence was bursting like thunder over the courtyard. Then slowly, the Woodburians sat back down on the bleachers and lowered their heads in submission. Rick Grimes looked up at his son and smiled in pride and gratitude.

"What…what do you want from us, Rick?" John asked meekly.

Rick rested the palm of his hand atop the grip of his Colt Python and took a step forward. "Well, John. What I need is a construction crew."

John looked to his left and to his right. "Who did you pick?"

Rick shook his head. "I didn't pick anybody."

"What?" John asked.

"I don't know anything about construction, so I asked Henry to write up a list of candidates. Henry, could you step forward please?"

Construction foreman Henry Matheson sat on the row above John and Donna, he stood up with his clipboard in his hand and muttered "Excuse me," as his tall, thin frame stepped over the couple and walked towards Rick.

Henry faced the Woodburians, cleared his throat, and flipped through the papers on his clipboard. "Okay. I made a list of the guys I think would be the best for this project. When I call your name please step forward."

"Tyreese Williams," Henry called out.

Tyreese, a former NFL player and a construction worker, sat on the third row between his sister Sasha, and Karen. He stood up and made his way down the bleachers and onto the courtyard.

"Eddie Nowak," Henry called out.

Eddie, a sturdy carpenter with calloused hands and gray hair, sat on the bottom row. He stood up, and walked forward to stand alongside Tyreese.

"John Boyd," Henry called out.

John smiled, kissed Donna on her forehead, and sauntered forward proudly.

"Daryl Dixon," Henry called out.

Daryl raised his head at the sound of his name and glared at Henry. When Daryl didn't join the construction crew, Henry looked over at the gruff redneck and threw up his hands with impatience.

"No," Daryl said as he shook his head for emphasis.

Henry blinked in disbelief as Rick huffed at the defiance of his second-in-command.

"Daryl, we need your help on this," Rick said sternly.

"You've got plenty of hands over there," Daryl grumbled as he adjusted the crossbow's weight on his shoulder and nodded at the Woodburians. "Pick yourself another pair."

"What is your malfunction, Dixon?" John asked.

"Well, I've three of 'em: first is fuck you," and at that, Daryl pointed his middle finger at John.

"You fucking, white trash—!" John shouted as he started to run towards Daryl, but Tyreese and Eddie held him back, as Donna stood up and ran forward to calm her husband down.

"Second: I've done my share already," Daryl continued as he pointed his index finger alongside his middle. "So don't forget to tell me thanks before you have your dinner!"

"And third: You pricks need to start earnin' your keep!" Daryl resumed as he pointed his ring finger alongside his middle and index. "So start singin' like the Seven Dwarfs and get to it!"

John—and a few of the Woodburians—started cursing and shouting at Daryl, but he walked towards Cell Block C as if he didn't have a care in the world. Rick raised his hands and called for order, while Carol, held her head in her hand and sighed wearily over Daryl's rash behavior.

"All right, everyone. Calm down, please," Rick repeated until the Woodburians finally heard him and stopped talking. Rick looked over at John and Donna: she was returning to the bleachers, and he looked over at him; Rick shrugged and John kicked a pebble across the courtyard.

"Henry, do you have anyone else on that list?" Rick asked.

Henry looked down at his clipboard and his fingertip slid down his list. "Charlie Rawlins," he called out.

Charlie, a bald black man with a grey goatee, stood up and joined the work crew.

"And finally…Greg Manning," Henry called out.

Greg, a white man with grey hair and wearing aviator glasses, stood up and waved at the construction crew as he walked over to them.

"That should be enough, Rick. Especially if we're careful," Henry said as he tucked the clipboard under his arm.

"Well, careful is exactly what we have to be," Rick nodded.

"We will. But remember what I said: keep those walkers off my back."

"Done," Rick nodded. "Okay, everybody," he said as he looked at both groups, "thank you for your patience. Go and have your breakfast. The work crew will meet back here in an hour."

The two groups climbed down from the bleachers and followed the work crew as they returned to their separate cell blocks. Carl was about to walk past his father when he felt his father's hand rest on his shoulder.

"Carl, we have to talk," Rick said.

Carl looked up at his father, and nodded. Rick gently moved Carl forward and he and his son began walking side-by-side across the courtyard.

"I'll say one thing, Carl: you certainly speak your mind," Rick grinned.

"I'm sorry I shouted, Dad," Carl said apologetically. "I'm sorry I—"

"Carl," Rick interrupted.

Carl stopped walking and looked up again at his father, who had also stopped walking and was looking down at him.

"It's all right," Rick said.

Carl blinked and Rick knelt down on one knee so he could look his son in the eyes. "I appreciate that you stood up for me like you just did. I wish you mother were here to see that."

Carl smiled and tears began to run down his face, but he put his arms around his dad's neck and hugged him so tightly, the Stetson hat on his head almost fell off. "Thanks, Dad," he wept.

Rick closed his eyes and hugged Carl, and in his mind, he saw Lori again, alive and smiling softly. "I miss her too, son," Rick said.

"I know," Carl said as he started to cry harder.

Rick held onto to Carl for a while longer, and then he gently broke his hold on Carl and reached into his jacket pocket for a balled up piece of Kleenex to dry his son's eyes. "I know these last few weeks have been rough on you: your mom died, we had the war against the Governor, and Andrea died. But you handled all of it better than a man twice your age. I'm proud of you, Carl."

"Thanks, Dad," Carl smiled as he adjusted the Stetson on his head.

Rick smiled in return and he patted Carl's shoulder. "One last thing: I know you thought I was angry with you when Hershel told me about that kid you shot in the woods. But I understand why you did it. You were protecting Judith. I just hope you never have to use that gun against another human being again."

Carl smiled at his father, but then the smile disappeared and he looked over his shoulder at the last of the Woodburians filing into Cell Block D. "Dad?" he asked.

"Yes, Carl?"

Carl looked at his father. "Do you trust those people?"

Rick stood up slightly so he could look at Cell Block D. He imagined that John Boyd was ranting about him being a bad leader and about Carl being a disrespectful brat.

 _I can't say that I hate that John Boyd, but I can't say that I like him either,_ Rick thought. _But he was fooled by the Governor, so I shouldn't be surprised he doesn't trust me. I just have to earn his trust. It wasn't easy at first with Daryl, but despite some speed bumps we've gotten better. I think John and I will get there too._

Rick knelt down again looked at Carl. "I trust some of them, like Henry, and Juan. We just need to get to know them, Carl."

"Yeah," Carl said with uncertainty.

Rick stood up and he and Carl resumed their walk to Cell Block D. A minute later Carl said, "Dad?"

"Yes, Carl?"

"I think when you put up that new gate, you should throw John out."

Rick shook his head in amusement and playfully pulled the brim down on his Stetson hat. "Very funny, Marshal Dillon."

Carl pulled the brim of his Stetson up and glanced up at his father on last time before they stepped inside Cell Block C.

•••

Downhill from the prison, and behind the prison squad car that served as a temporary gate, Jeanette, a thin black woman with short hair, stood guard with Mariana Zavala, Juan's wife. Marianna's long, black hair was styled into a bun. The two women had volunteered to relieve last night's guards for this morning's watch, and they were holding brush hooks to defend themselves from any walkers that staggered out of the tree line. Two shotguns were leaning against the guard tower in case walkers staggered down the road or out of the woods and were too much for the two women to handle.

Despite the responsibility of guarding the open gate, Jeanette and Marianna couldn't help but listen to Carl Grimes' passionate defense of his father. The two women now watched as their group and Rick's group climbed down from the bleachers and made their way to their separate cell blocks for breakfast.

"Rick's boy has a way with words, huh?" Jeanette asked with a smile.

"Sí," Marianna smiled in return. "Maybe he'll grow up to become a politician."

The two women turned around and gazed down the deserted road that stretched out into the horizon. After several minutes Jeannette asked, "A lot has to change if that's going to happen."

Marianna looked questioningly at Jeannette.

"You know, the world getting put back together," Jeannette explained. "Do you think Rick Grimes can get us there?"

Marianna held up the brush hook in her hand, and remembered Juan told her that he used this weapon—a tool actually—to help John and some men kill walkers that had been attracted by the gunfire from Rick's group.

 _How could Rick be so stupid as to make all that noise and bring more of those monsters here?_ Marianna asked herself. _There had to be another way to take back that field. A real leader would've thought of something better._

Marianna next thought about the other leader she knew, and how her belief in him nearly got her and her husband killed.

•••

It was past noon as Marianna and Juan cautiously make their way through the deserted, debris strewn streets of Atlanta. Juan held a Remington 870 shotgun he found inside an abandoned Atlanta PD squad car that had crashed into the side of an O'Reilly Auto Parts store, while Marianna held onto Juan's Smith & Wesson Model 10 revolver with both hands. They both were carrying backpacks: Juan's was stuffed with canned food, bottled water, and ammunition for his revolver, while Marianna's was stuffed with her most treasured family photo albums. The street was mercifully clear, with the occasional car wreck or an abandoned vehicle along the street.

"Do you think we should take a car?" Marianna asked Juan.

Juan watched their surroundings but grunted his refusal. "No. We're not clear of the city yet."

"Please, Juan, let's take a car and get out of here!" Marianna begged.

"No!" Juan said though clenched teeth. "What if the engine won't turn? I don't want us trapped in a melon if the dead show up! We'll get a car when we're clear of the city!"

Marianna obediently accepted Juan's reasoning and they continued to move carefully along the street. Then they heard the rumble of engines behind them. They turned around and saw a convoy of three vehicles speeding up the road: the lead was a Nissan Altima, the second was a Ford Explorer, and the last was a Dodge Grand Caravan, with its roof loaded with metal boxes and canvas bags.

"Juan, we have to hide!" Marianna shouted as she tugged on her husband's arm.

"It's too late, miel, they spotted us," Juan said, his complexion turning pale.

Marianna started to cry, but she found the courage to raise the revolver and aim it at the lead car. Juan took a deep breath and raised the shotgun to his shoulder as he looked down its iron sights. "Padre nos proteja," he whispered.

The convoy slowed down and came to a stop a few feet away from Marianna and Juan. The Nissan's passenger door opened and a timid man wearing granny glasses and holding a roadmap stepped out. "Uh…hell-hello," the man stuttered. "My name is Milton. Milton Mamet."

In the opposite lane, the front doors to the Explorer opened: a middle aged white couple with dark hair stepped out of the driver and passenger seats. The man had a Springfield Armory 1911 pistol and aimed it at the Zavala's, while the woman held a Mossberg 500 Cruiser shotgun and aimed her weapon at them too.

The doors to the Grand Caravan opened: two white men climbed out from the front, and a white woman with two small children climbed out from the back. The driver had a revolver in his waistband, but he didn't draw it, but the passenger had an AR-15 rifle and aimed it at Marianna and Juan. The two children were scared and clung to the woman for protection.

The driver's side door to the Altima opened and a tall, white man with auburn hair got out. He wore a navy shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, a quilted hunting vest, and charcoal pants; a nickel plated Beretta 92SB pistol was in a crossdraw holster on his belt, and a hunting knife was on his hip. The man put his hands in the air and he smiled warmly. "Hello, folks. Nice day for a walk, right?" he asked.

Marianna and Juan kept their weapons up, but they glanced at each other in disbelief at the man's greeting.

"That was a joke. A bad joke, but my heart was in the right place," the man explained. "Could you both lower your weapons please?"

"You rolled up on us!" Juan spat.

The man's smile vanished and he turned around and motioned for his group to lower their weapons; the silently obeyed his order. "I'm sorry that I frightened you both," he said as he looked back at Marianna and Juan. "Please, lower your weapons and let's talk."

Marianna and Juan glanced at each other, and they lowered their weapons. The man smiled again and walked over to them. "All things considered, it's fortunate that we met like this. If you didn't run into a gang of thieves, you surely would've run into some biters."

Marianna looked questioningly at the man. "Biters?" she asked.

The man nodded. "That's what we call the dead."

"Dios Mío," Marianna whispered as she crossed herself.

"We…we haven't seen those…demons today," Juan said.

"No…not yet," the man countered.

Juan looked over his shoulder at the open road, and a moment later he looked at the man and nodded.

"My people and I gathered up these vehicles and supplies and are going to try our luck out in the country," the man said. "Judging by those weapons and backpacks, I'd say you both have the same idea."

"Sí," Juan said.

Marianna nodded quickly in agreement.

"Then if you want to join our group, you're more than welcome," the man said. "We can't rely on the police and the army anymore, but we can rely on each other."

The man extended his hand to Juan, who looked at it for a moment and shook the man's hand. "I'm Juan…Juan Zavala. This is my wife, Marianna."

"Philip Blake," the man said.

Mariana shook Philip's hand and he led her and Juan to the Ford Explorer. As they walked past the Altima, the rear passenger window slid down and a little auburn haired girl stuck her head out the window. "Who are they, Daddy?" she asked sweetly.

"They're friends, Penny," Philip answered with a smile.

Penny smiled at Marianna, and she couldn't help but smile back at the little girl.

The driver of the Explorer climbed into the vehicle and Marianna heard the trunk's lock disengage. At the same time, the Explorer's passenger climbed into the vehicle. "That's Nick and Alice," Philip explained as he opened the Explorer's trunk. "You two can get to know them during the drive. Put your shotgun and backpacks in here."

Marianna and Juan took off their backpacks and put them atop a pile of gym bags that were loaded with supplies. Next Juan clicked the Remington 870s safety on, and put it atop the backpacks. Marianna hand Juan his Smith & Wesson Model 10 revolver, and he stuck it in his waistband.

Their gear stowed away, Juan and Marianna walked over to the Explorer's rear door; Juan opened it, and leapt back in surprise. "Madre Dios!" he shouted.

"Juan, what is it?" she asked worriedly.

Juan pointed at the Ford Explorer, Marianna looked inside and saw a white man who was deathly pale and wrapped in blankets sitting beside the rear passenger window. The man's right arm ended in a stump and it was wrapped in gauze that was stained with dry blood.

"I forgot to mention Merle," Philip smiled. "Don't worry about him. He cut off his hand to get away from the Biters, but he'll be fine in a few days."

Juan reluctantly climbed into the Ford Explorer and sat in the center of the rear passenger seat, Marianna climbed in after him and Philip closed the door for her. Juan couldn't help but stare at Merle, whose tired eyes suddenly burned with hate. "What the fuck are you lookin' at, Beaner?" he spat.

Juan looked down at the floorboard, clasped his hands together, and said nothing.

Philip returned to the Altima and stood by the car's doorway as he looked at his group. "Let's roll!" he shouted.

Philip sat down in the driver's seat and closed the door. Milton got back in the car and closed the passenger door. The rest of the group climbed back into their vehicles, closed the doors, started the engines, and followed Philip as he led them out of Atlanta.

•••

Her memory of meeting the future Governor over, Marianna started to tremble. She dropped the brush hook to the ground and wrapped her arms around her chest as she began to weep.

"Marianna, what's wrong, honey?" Jeanette asked worriedly as she placed her hand on her friend's back.

"Oh, ¡Dios mío," Marianna wailed.

"Marianna?" Jeanette asked.

"He won't save us," Marianna said.

"Who?" Jeanette asked frightfully.

"Rick Grimes!" Marianna answered. "He'll kill us all!"


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER 2**

Glenn reached the side door to Cell Block C first, but he held the door open for Maggie, who smiled in appreciation and stepped inside. Glenn kept the door open for Beth (who carried the baby Judith Grimes) and her and Maggie's crippled father Hershel Greene, but the old farmer nodded for Glenn to go inside, so the young Korean reluctantly agreed.

Inside the common room, Glenn saw Daryl sitting on the vestibule steps, drinking a cup of coffee, with his Stryker Strykezone 380 crossbow leaning against the holding cell beside the vestibule's steps. Carol was pouring a box of oatmeal into the pot as she began to cook breakfast. Maggie was standing beside the coffee machine, pouring two cups for herself and Glenn. Glenn walked over to a table and sat down.

A few moments later, Maggie walked over to Glenn with a cup of coffee in each hand; she smiled and set one cup down in front of him. Glenn wrapped his hands around the coffee cup and looked up at Maggie. "Thank you," he smiled.

Maggie smile grew broader and she sat down across from Glenn, who looked down at his coffee cup. "Are you okay?" she asked with concern.

Glenn blinked and looked up again at Maggie. "Hmm?" he asked.

Maggie glanced at Daryl, sipping his coffee, and then she glanced over her shoulder at Carol, cooking breakfast. Maggie brought her coffee cup to her lips and whispered: "Didn't that bother you when Daryl called you 'the Korean kid'?"

Glenn glanced to his left at Daryl, sipping his coffee calmly despite nearly causing a brawl out in courtyard just minutes earlier. "Not really," Glenn whispered with a shake of his head. "Far as Daryl's insults go, that one was tame. Besides, Daryl was right: he risked his life to bring back some meat. It's not his fault it's not enough to feed everyone."

Maggie took a sip of coffee, lowered her cup, and whispered: "I agree…partially."

"What do you mean by that?" Glenn asked a bit louder than he intended.

Maggie glanced at Daryl, but it didn't seem that he heard Glenn. Maggie leaned forward and beckoned with her index finger for Glenn to come closer. "Daryl needs to stop being a racist," she whispered. "We're not just a group, we're a family, and believe me…a family doesn't know how much time they'll have together."

Glenn smiled and gently put a hand atop Maggie's. "Thank you for saying that, but I'm good," he whispered.

"Really?" Maggie whispered.

Glenn nodded.

The side door opened and a baby's wailing filled the common room. The four group members turned their heads towards the side door and saw Hershel, holding the door open while leaning on his crutches, as Beth stepped inside with Judith crying in her arms.

Daryl stood up from the vestibule's steps and took a few cautious steps towards Beth and baby Judith. "She all right?" he asked worriedly.

"Yeah, a bee just buzzed around her ear and scared her," Beth explained.

Daryl lowered his head and remembered when he and Maggie rode on his motorcycle to get formula for the newborn baby. Daryl especially was determined that they wouldn't lose that baby…and they didn't. Daryl also remembered holding the baby in his arms and giving her the nickname "Lil Ass Kicker".

Daryl sighed with relief, and when he raised his head he looked at Carol, and he saw she was looking at Judith, and she also sighed with relief at the news that Judith was all right.

"Well, calm her down," Daryl grumbled as he walked back to the vestibule's steps. "She's givin' me a headache."

Beth bounced Judith in her arms and walked into the cell block, and the baby's cries faded off into the distance.

"That meeting did not go as smoothly as I hoped," Hershel said as he hobbled towards Maggie and Glenn's table.

"Ain't my fault," Daryl said.

"I'm not blaming you," Hershel told the gruff redneck as he held his crutches in one hand while balancing on his one leg, and slowly sat down on a chair. "But you didn't have to be so profane to those people."

"Hey, one baby in this prison is enough. Those motherfuckers need to know we ain't gonna wipe their asses and sing 'em lullabies at night."

Hershel sighed wearily at Daryl's statement and leaned his crutches against the next table. "So how are you both doing?" he asked Maggie and Glenn.

Maggie glared at Daryl for a moment; he was sipping his coffee, unaware of the older Greene daughter's anger over him insulting Glenn. She then looked at Glenn, and her expression couldn't mask the disappointment she had in him for brushing off Daryl's racist comment. Maggie looked at her father and managed a fake smile. "We're fine," she said.

Glenn looked at Hershel and grinned as he blinked rapidly. "Uh…yeah. We're good. I mean, we're fine."

Hershel looked at the young couple for a few moments and smiled, "I'm glad to hear that."

Glenn and Maggie smiled in return and went back to sipping their coffee. Hershel looked at the other two group members in the common room: Daryl was still on the vestibule's steps, sipping his on cup of coffee. Carol was now sitting in a wooden chair against the far wall, waiting for the oatmeal in the pot to cook. Hershel placed a hand gently on Maggie's left hand. "Sweetheart, could you get me a cup of coffee please?" he asked.

Maggie's eyes widened when she realized her father didn't have a cup of coffee. She put her cup down on the table and leapt to her feet. "Oh…oh I'm sorry, dad. I forgot to bring you a cup."

"Better late than never," Hershel smiled sincerely.

Maggie smiled in return as she nodded her head, and then she turned around and walked over to the coffee machine. Hershel folded his hands on the table and glanced at Glenn and thought about the unspoken trouble between his eldest daughter and the young man who he had grown to love as a son.

•••

John Boyd was still furious with Daryl over his refusal to join the construction crew, and as he stomped into the common room of Cell Block D, he took his Atlanta Braves baseball cap off his head and hurled it with all his might across the room. "That son of a bitch!" he shouted.

Sam Dunbar, a white man with receding gray hair, was standing by the far wall when he caught a glimpse of the blue object flying towards him, he threw his arms around his head, closed his eyes, and braced for impact. The object—John's Atlanta Braves baseball cap—missed the back of Sam's head by a few inches and it fell lightly to the floor. Sam slowly lowered his arms, opened his eyes, and realizing he wasn't hurt, looked down at the floor and saw that he'd been afraid of a frayed baseball cap. Sam glared at John, and angrily kicked the baseball cap at the Vietnam veteran. "What the hell is wrong with you, John?!" he shouted.

"Fuck you, Sam!" John shouted, as he pointed angrily at his fellow survivor.

Sam held his hands out to signal a stop and nervously sidestepped his way out of John's line of sight. John bent down, picked up his baseball cap, and began slapping the dust off of it.

Donna walked over to John, and put a hand on her husband's shoulder. He looked from his frayed baseball cap to his wife, and saw the worry on her face. "Do you want to get yourself thrown out?" she asked.

John swatted the last fleck of dust away from his baseball cap and stomped towards the cellblock. "Honey, when I leave this prison, six of my friends are carrying me out in a box."

Donna huffed and followed John. He entered their cell block, put his baseball cap on the desk that was screwed onto the wall, and began to remove his jacket. "Why did you have to say that, after losing our son and his family?" she asked angrily.

John froze for a minute, and then he began to roll up his jacket, but as he turned around to face Donna his complexion had gone pale. "I…I'm sorry, Donna."

"Really? Because sometimes you act like Adam never existed," Donna said as tears filled her eyes.

"How can you say that?" John asked as he dropped his jacket onto the bottom bunk. "I loved that boy. He made me proud. I didn't want him to join the army, Donna, I know you thought that's what I secretly wanted for him, but it wasn't. I tried to talk him out of it; I told him the truth about happened to me in 'nam and how I was treated when I came back home, but he was determined. The boy was as bullheaded as me."

The tears started to run down Donna's face and John stepped forward, wrapped his arms around her and hugged her gently. "I'm sorry, Donna," John said, as his voice cracked.

"I miss him, John," Donna cried.

"I do too," John admitted.

"It's not fair! Our son survives two tours of duty in Iraq, and he gets called up to go defend Los Angeles from those….those…monsters, and we never hear from him again!"

"I know, honey," John said softly.

The Boyd's held each other and cried together for several minutes, and when Donna called down she said, "Adam was a good boy, but that damn girl he married…."

John took a deep breath, knowing that Donna's grief was about to explode into rage.

"How dare she call us and say that she poisoned our grandchildren before she went and did the same thing to herself?"

John closed his eyes, and the last picture Adam took with his family appeared: Adam was in his full dress uniform and standing beside him was his wife Lisa, a young blonde with a friendly smile. Seated in front of them were their two grade school children, Gail and Robert. A tear squeezed through John's eyelids and it fell onto Donna's dyed Auburn hair.

"Lisa was scared, Donna," John explained. "After we lost contact with Adam, and the walkers appeared in Atlanta, she just gave up."

"But she didn't have to kill our grandchildren!" Donna screamed as she pulled away from John.

"I know," John nodded. "She thought by…giving the kids those pills, she was protecting them."

"Some protection," Donna quipped angrily. "Gail and Robert are dead and are now like those walkers! When you die, you turn, remember?"

For the first time, John pictured his and Donna's grandchildren as walkers, staggering about day and night with a constant hunger for live flesh. John closed his eyes immediately and shook his head to shatter the image forever. "I…I don't think Lisa knew about that," John muttered.

"Well, I pray Adam and our grandchildren are with Jesus in Heaven," Donna cried.

"I know that they are," John nodded confidently.

"And I pray Lisa turned and got her brains shot by a survivor!"

Donna dug into her jacket pocket, took out a Kleenex, and began to wipe the tears from her eyes. John put his arm around Donna's shoulders and they both sat down on the bottom bunk. "Donna, why are you talking about all of this?" he asked.

Donna dried her eyes, put her Kleenex down, and looked at John. "You need to start getting along with Rick," she said.

John huffed as he shook his head in disdain for Rick Grimes. "I can't believe you asked me that."

"Why?" Donna asked.

"Because Rick is just like the Governor!" John answered.

"Do you really believe that?"

"Hell yes! He gives orders, he gives long speeches, and he barely listens to advice. The only difference between the two of them is Rick hasn't killed anyone yet!"

Donna took John's arm off her shoulders and held onto his hand, and he instinctively intertwined their fingers like he had done countless times since they started going steady in high school so many years ago. "I could say the same thing about you," she said.

"What?" John asked as he blinked in surprise.

"You're bullheaded, remember?"

"Honey, that's not the same—"

"John, didn't you listen to what Rick's son said at that meeting?" Donna asked. "Rick's their leader because nobody else wanted to be. He's made hard decisions, and taking our group into this prison was one of them. And your behavior is just making things worse. Rick told us why there wasn't enough deer meat to feed everyone, and you tell him to send Daryl Dixon out to hunt some more?"

John shook his head. "Donna, the boy knows his business. He should be out there hunting instead of—"

"You need to give Rick a chance," Donna interrupted. "If you keep criticizing him like you've been, he'll throw you out. And if you get thrown out, I'm going with you, and we're too old to survive out there for long."

John looked at Donna and raised an eyebrow. "We're too old?"

Donna smiled sweetly, and brushed her auburn hair. "I'm down to my last can of hair dye, dear. Pretty soon my hair will be whiter than yours."

John leaned down and kissed Donna on her forehead. "That's a damn shame. You were the prettiest redhead in high school."

Donna smiled again. "So are you just trying to charm me, or are you going to give Rick Grimes a chance to prove himself?"

John sighed wearily, but he nodded. "Yeah, I'll give Rick a chance; he did take our group in, so I guess he deserves it."

Donna kissed John on his cheek. "Thank you."

John blushed, stood up, and gently pulled Donna to her feet. "Well, let's go eat breakfast before they stop serving it."

•••

Downhill from the prison, and behind the prison squad car, Jeanette and Marianna continued their morning sentry duties; only Marianna was now sitting on the folding chair against the guard tower that Eddie Nowak had brought out last night.

Jeanette heard a distant rustle to her left; she looked in that direction and saw a male walker, with disheveled blonde hair, a soiled and bloodied shirt, a loose necktie, and pants that were torn at the kneecaps, stagger out of the woods and approach the fence line. A few moments later, the walker's forehead hit the fence and it staggered back, but it moved forward again, hit the fence again, and it just stood there, growling with its forehead pressed against the cold, metal wire.

"Oh, my Lord," Jeanette whispered in horror as she tightened her grip on the brush hook in her hand.

Jeanette looked to her right and saw Marianna, looking down at the ground and her hands folded as if she were praying. "Marianna, are you okay, honey?" she asked worriedly.

Marianna didn't look up at Jeanette or respond to her question. Jeanette thought after Marianna's outburst that Rick would kill all of them, it was best to leave her friend alone and resumed her sentry duty.

Jeanette heard an engine in the distance and looked down the road to see a vehicle speeding towards her. A frightened Jeanette dropped the brush hook, and ran over to the two shotguns leaning beside Marianna.

"Marianna! There's a car coming!" Jeanette cried as she picked up one of the shotguns.

Marianna looked up at Jeannette, and saw her friend was running to the squad car, with a shotgun in her hands. Marianna stood up, looked down the street and saw a vehicle coming towards them. "Madre de Dios," she whispered fearfully.

Jeannette brought the shotgun up to her shoulder and was about to aim down its iron sights when she looked over at Marianna. "Marianna, go get—" she almost said Rick, but suddenly remembered Marianna's mistrust of the sheriff's deputy. "—get somebody!" she cried.

Marianna nodded and ran up the hill to the prison.

Jeannette looked down the shotgun's iron sights and aimed it at approaching vehicle. She suddenly remembered that the shotgun's safety was on, so she lowered the weapon, flicked the safety off like Rick had showed her, and Jeannette brought it up to her shoulder again.

Jeannette looked down the iron sights again, and she recognized the vehicle from the Governor's convoy when he left with his militia to attack the prison: It was a Jeep Wrangler YJ. A moment later she recognized the driver. Jeannette lowered the shotgun and flicked the safety on.

The Jeep started to slow down and finally came to a stop in front of the prison's squad car.

"Michonne? Is that you, girl?" Jeannette asked with a smile.

"Yes, it is. I'm back," Michonne answered.


	3. Chapter 3

**CHAPTER THREE**

Marianna ran inside the common room of Cell Block D and shouted, "There's a car coming!"

All of the Woodburians stopped eating their breakfast or talking amongst themselves, and looked at the Latino woman standing on the vestibule steps, her eyes wide with fright, and her complexion pale.

Juan was talking to a small group when Marianna burst in. He ran through the crowd, leapt up the vestibule steps, and grabbed his wife by the shoulders. "Marianna, what are you talking about?" he asked.

Marianna was now panting for breath and she nearly collapsed, but Juan kept her on her feet. "A…a car. I saw…I saw a car…coming up the road."

John and Donna were sitting at a table eating breakfast. John dropped his spoon into his bowl of oatmeal, stood up, and brushed through the crowd which was now muttering nervously about Marianna's news.

"A car?" A man asked in disbelief as he picked up his little son.

"Is it a police car, Daddy?" a little boy asked excitedly.

"I don't hear any sirens," the father answered.

"Maybe the Governor's returned?" Michael Garrett guessed.

Michael's wife Alicia bit her knuckles to stop from screaming, and Michael wrapped his arms around Alicia to keep her calm.

A moment later, John walked up the steps, stood beside Juan, and looked coldly into Marianna's frightened eyes. "All right, Marianna, calm down," he ordered.

Marianna nodded.

"You said there's a car coming?"

"Sí."

"Is Jeanette still at the gate?"

"Sí."

"Does she have a gun?" John asked as the palm of his right hand flew to the grip of the Colt M1911A1 pistol holstered on his hip.

"She has a shotgun," Marianna answered.

John nodded and he looked at Juan. "Stay here," he ordered.

Juan pulled Marianna into his arms and nodded.

John looked over his shoulder and saw Donna, who was standing up, with a worried expression on her face. "Donna, stay here," he ordered.

Donna gasped fearfully and her hand covered her mouth.

John drew his pistol and ran outside. The Woodburians began muttering worriedly again.

"What're we going to do?" a woman asked.

"I'll tell ya'll what we're going to do: we're going to stay right here!" retired postal worker Floyd Townsend shouted.

"What, so we can end up shot full of holes like our friends on the side of the road?" Greg Manning asked incredulously.

Floyd, too embarrassed to respond to Greg's question, lowered his head.

"Maybe we can plead for mercy," Michael suggested. "We always did what the Governor told us, so why would he kill us too?"

"The Governor will kill us because we abandoned Woodbury and moved into the prison!" Alonso Rawlins shouted.

"We never should've let Rick Grimes bring us here," Marianna said as she wept in Juan's arms.

While the Woodburians argued, Donna saw Tyreese's younger sister Sasha walking hurriedly towards the vestibule doorway. "Sasha, where are you going?" she asked.

Sasha stopped in her tracks, and walked over to Donna. "I'm going to tell Rick what's going on outside," she whispered.

Donna nodded and Sasha resumed her walk through the crowd of Woodburians, then she walked past Juan and Marianna atop the vestibule steps, and soon as she was outside ran towards Cell Block C.

•••

Inside the common room of Cell Block C, Rick and Carl sat a table, eating their breakfast. Rick swallowed a portion of oatmeal, put his spoon down in his bowl, wrapped his fingers around the handle of his coffee cup, and raised it to his lips and took a sip; as Rick put the cup down on the table, he saw Carl was watching him. "Is something wrong, son?" he asked.

"Can I have some coffee?" Carl asked.

Rick chuckled. "I swear, Carl, first it was guns, then it was contributing to the group. Now it's drinking coffee. Are you going to ask Daryl for cigarettes next?"

Carl shook his head. "No, Dad."

"Good, be sure it stays that way: both on the coffee and the cigarettes."

"Dad—"

"I don't want you stunting your growth, Carl."

Carl shook his head in disbelief. "Dad, that's a myth."

"Really?" Rick asked. "I thought stories about the dead rising from the grave to eat the living were a myth, but here we are."

"Dad, Judith gets all of our milk, and I'm sick of drinking water every day," Carl whined.

"Water's good for you, Carl," Rick told his son.

Carl pushed his bowl of oatmeal aside, put his forearms down on the table, and rested his chin atop them as he moped.

"Sit up straight and finish your breakfast, Carl," Rick ordered.

Carl sighed wearily. "Yes, Dad," he mumbled as he sat up, put his bowl of oatmeal in front of him, picked up his spoon, and resumed eating. Rick smiled victoriously.

The side door to the common room flew open suddenly and Sasha ran inside the common room. "Rick!" she cried.

With the exception of Hershel, the group stood up and looked in shock at the frightened young woman; Rick ran over to her and put his left hand on her forearm, while his right rested on the handle of his Colt Python revolver holstered on the gun belt around his waist. "Sasha, what's wrong?" he asked.

"Mari…Marianna said there's a car coming up the road!" Sasha answered as she pointed towards the temporary gate.

Sasha's shouting frightened Judith, and she began to cry. Beth held the baby close and whispered for her to hush, but she wouldn't stop crying.

Rick looked at his group, and they sprang into action.

Daryl grabbed his Stryker Strykezone 380 crossbow, aimed its barrel onto the floor, and slipped his foot through the crossbow's stirrup; next he pulled the string back until it was cocked, then he slipped his foot out of the stirrup, held the crossbow in his hands, took an arrow from the attached quiver, loaded it onto the flight grove, and flicked the safety to the "off" position.

Carol ran towards the laundry cart beside the vestibule steps, while Glenn and Maggie ran to the laundry cart beside the doorway to the cellblock; both carts were loaded with the firearms the group collected from the prison's armory, and the firearms Rick, Michonne, and Carl collected from their trip to King County.

Carl reached for the Beretta 92FS pistol holstered on his side, but grasped air instead. Carl remembered that he left his pistol and gun belt lying on the top bunk in his cell and he ran towards the cellblock doorway.

"Carl!" Rick shouted.

Carl froze in his tracks and looked at his father.

"Stay here, and watch Judith. Don't argue!" Rick ordered.

Carl nodded. Rick drew his Colt Python revolver and ran onto the courtyard. With his father out of the common room, Carl took the Stetson hat off his head, and slapped it angrily against his leg.

Hershel stood on his one leg and put his left hand on the table for balance as he grabbed his crutches and carefully put them under his arms.

The commotion inside the common room made Judith cry louder and Beth was now bouncing her in her arms.

Carol took two M4A1 rifles out of the laundry cart and turned towards Daryl. "Daryl!" she shouted.

Daryl looked at Carol, and she held out the two M4A1 rifles. Daryl flicked his crossbow safety to the "on" position, slung it over his back, and held out a hand; Carol tossed him the rifle in her left hand, he caught it, and flicked its safety to the "off" position; Carol also flicked the safety "off" on her rifle and the two of them ran out the side door.

Glenn took a Remington 870 Police Magnum shotgun out of the other laundry cart, while Maggie took the M1903 Springfield Bolt Action rifle she often carried on sentry duty during the war against the Governor. Maggie flicked the rifle's safety to the "off" position, and she and Glenn ran towards the open side door when Sasha suddenly stepped into their path. "Wait!" Sasha shouted, with her hands up in the air.

Glenn and Maggie tried to stop running, but they crashed into Sasha, who remarkably stood her ground while Glenn and Maggie stumbled backwards and fell onto their backsides.

"Oww," Glenn whined as he leaned to his left and rubbed his bruised derriere.

"Hey, what're you doing?!" Maggie asked angrily as she glared up at Sasha.

"I'm sorry, but my people are scared that the Governor's back," Sasha explained. "I know this will sound crazy but…can I borrow a gun?"

Glenn and Maggie looked at each other in disbelief and looked up at Sasha. "Okay," Glenn said.

"Thank you," Sasha said as she ran to one of the laundry carts. She took a Mossberg 500 shotgun, and ran back to the open side door.

"Sasha," Hershel said.

Sasha stopped running and looked at the old farmer.

"You have to rack the pump to chamber a shell, and flick the safety to "off"."

Sasha looked at the shotgun in her hands, and followed Hershel's instructions. "Thank you," Sasha said to the old farmer before she ran outside.

Glenn stood up and offered a hand to Maggie, she took it and he pulled her to her feet. "Are you okay?" he asked.

"I'm fine," Maggie nodded. "Let's go!"

Maggie ran towards the open side door, but Glenn suddenly grabbed her arm. "Wait!" he cried.

Maggie's forward momentum was stopped, and she was pulled backwards into Glenn, the impact was made the couple stumble backwards and into Hershel.

"My Lord, Glenn—" Hershel gasped as he tried to maintain his fragile balance.

"What are you doing?" Maggie asked Glenn bewilderedly.

"You can't go outside!" Glenn shouted, his eyes wide with fright.

"Are you serious? The Governor might be back!"

"Exactly! And if there's a fight, you can't be involved!"

Maggie's jaw dropped open and she pulled her arm free from Glenn's grasp. "You are **not** starting this again!"

"Maggie it'll be dangerous!"

"If you think so, maybe **you** should stay here!"

"Maggie, stay here and protect Hershel and the others. I'll go outside and help Rick!"

"Excuse me, Glenn," Hershel said as he raised a finger. "You're shotgun's not—"

"I'm sorry, Hershel," Glenn interrupted as he looked over his shoulder. "But this isn't a time for a debate!"

Hershel blinked in surprise at Glenn's tone.

Glenn let go of Maggie's arm and ran towards the open side door. "Stay here! Everything will be all right!" he shouted.

"Glenn!" Maggie shouted angrily.

Glenn ran out the open side door and onto the courtyard.

"The boy didn't chamber a shell or take the safety off," Hershel muttered.

•••

"John!" Rick shouted as he ran across the courtyard.

John was kneeling in a sniper's stance beside the courtyard gate and pointing his Colt M1911A1 pistol downhill when Rick called out his name. The Vietnam veteran lowered his pistol and seemed like he was about to curse at Rick, but he surprisingly held back.

"What the hell are you doing out here?" John whispered as Rick knelt beside him.

"I heard about our visitor," Rick answered.

"Well you just revealed our location to our 'visitor," John said angrily.

"What are you talking about?"

"I was trying to line him up in my sights, in case he threatened Jeanette," John explained as he showed Rick his pistol.

Rick looked down the hill and saw a Jeep Wrangler YJ parked in front of the prison squad car. He couldn't see the jeep's driver due to the sunlight reflecting off the windshield. Jeanette was standing behind the squad car, with one of the shotguns Rick had left there so the sentries could defend themselves from a herd or a hostile group. "Jeanette looks okay; she's armed," he said.

"What good is that if she's not pointing the shotgun at the driver?" John asked.

"Can you even see the driver?"

"No. The damn sun is blurring the cab's windshield."

Rick studied the jeep for a few moments and a chill ran through his body, "Do you recognize that jeep?"

John nodded. "Yeah, it's one of the vehicles the Governor took when he attacked you."

"The Governor's back?" Rick asked in disbelief.

"I swear that bastard is like VD: you can't get rid of him," John grumbled.

A cloud drifted across the sky and blocked out the sun, which cleared the jeep's windshield. When Rick saw the driver, a smile spread across his face, and he stood up and began running downhill.

"Rick," John said as he tried to stop the sheriff's deputy, but his fingers were just out of reach of Rick's gun belt. John stood up and aimed his pistol to cover Rick, but when he saw the jeep's driver, he lowered his pistol to his side. "Holy shit," he said.

•••

Daryl and Carol ran across the empty courtyard with their M4A1 rifles at the ready; Carol especially watched the tree line for a sniper, as that was the spot where the Governor had shot and killed the inmate Axel several days ago.

As Daryl got closer to the open courtyard gate, he gestured for Carol to take the right side; Carol moved in that direction while Daryl took the left.

Daryl and Carol stopped running when they reached the courtyard gate, and they brought their rifles up to their shoulders as they looked cautiously downhill; what they saw was Rick, John, and Jeanette talking to a woman in a Jeep Wrangler YJ, and when they realized who that woman was, they lowered their rifles and looked at each other in disbelief. "I knew she'd be back," Daryl grinned.

•••

The walker that had been pressing its forehead against the chain link fence was now staggering towards the Jeep Wrangler YJ. Rick—with the brush hook in his hand—walked around the jeep and approached the walker. A few moments later Rick raised his arm and brought the tool crashing down on the top of the walker's head.

WHUKK!

The brush hook cut through the walker's head and came to a stop at the center of its forehead. Rick held onto the dead walker's shoulder for leverage, pulled the brush hook free, pushed the dead walker, and watched it fall onto its back.

"Not bad," Michonne said as Rick returned to stand on the jeep's driver's side.

"Carl's been worried about you," Rick said as he tossed the bloody brush hook in the direction of the folding chair. "He'll probably give you a hug."

"A hug? Well, I think I can handle that," Michonne smiled.

Rick's smiled in return, but a moment later he lowered his head and ran a hand through his hair. To Michonne, it seemed like he realized he needed to ask her about her hunt for the Governor, but was struggling with how he should phrase it.

"I didn't find the Governor," Michonne said.

Rick raised his head, looked at Michonne, looked at John and Jeanette, and looked back at Michonne. "How about Woodbury?" he asked.

"It's gone," Michonne answered.

"What the hell do you mean by that?" John asked in a low voice

"I mean it's gone," Michonne answered. "The Governor went back there and he torched it."

John and Jeanette looked at each other in disbelief. Jeanette opened her arms and embraced John, and he embraced her too as they both remembered the town they, their families, and their friends had called a home for over a year.

Rick rested his hand atop the jeep's driver's side door. "Are you going to keep looking for him?" he asked.

Michonne shook her head. "Not for a while."

Rick nodded and turned towards Jeanette. "Jeanette, could you give me the keys, please?" he asked with his hand out.

Jeanette let go of John, dug into her jacket pocket, and pulled out the keys to the prison squad car. Rick opened the car door, put the key in the ignition and turned it softly so the noise form engine wouldn't attract walkers, and slowly drove the squad car forward.

"Michonne," John called out.

Michonne looked at John.

"I'm sorry," John said.

"For what?" Michonne asked.

"I didn't think you had a chance out there," John answered. "I was wrong. You're one tough broad."

"Thanks," Michonne smiled. She looked at Jeanette, who had taken a Kleenex out of a jacket pocket and was now drying her eyes. "Hey, Jeanette, you look tired. Why don't you get in the jeep? I'll drive you up to the cell block."

Jeanette looked over at John, who nodded in agreement. The older woman looked back at Michonne and said, "Thank you, honey."

Jeanette walked around the jeep, opened the passenger door, and climbed inside. Michonne drove the jeep up the hill and onto the prison's courtyard. Rick slowly backed the prison squad car into its position at the fence line; he climbed out and looked at John, who was standing nearby.

"Do you mind if I take over at the gate for Jeanette and Marianna?" John asked, with the palm of his hand resting on his holstered pistol.

"No, it's all right," Rick said as he tossed the car keys to John, who put them in his jacket pocket.

"Rick," John said.

"Yeah?"

"I'm sorry."

Rick smiled and rubbed the stubble on his jaw. "Why, John, you and I have had so many arguments, I've lost track of them."

"Okay, I've been an asshole. But the last man I gave my trust to stuck me on the sidelines because of my age; then he drafted my people into a war against you, and ended up gunning half of them down along the side of a road.

"I've got a wife to worry about and a few survivors that some CO's back in my time would call "liabilities". I disagree with you on a lot of things, but like your son said: you got the job because nobody else wanted it.

"So, what I'm getting at here is I know you've got a tough job, and I haven't been much help, but I want to help now."

John held his hand out; Rick considered the Vietnam veteran's words, and shook his hand. "Apology accepted."

John grinned , picked up the shotgun Jeanette had dropped earlier, and sat down on the folding chair.

"I'll get somebody down here to help you keep watch," Rick said as he walked up the hill.

"Fine," John said. "Just tell Donna that I'm okay. I appreciate it."

•••

Daryl and Carol waved at Michonne as she drove past them and head towards Cell Block D.

"Do you think she found the Governor?" Carol asked.

"His damn head isn't tied to the jeep's grill, so my answer is no," Daryl quipped.

"Stop," Carol ordered, despite her small smile.

"Where is he?! Where is he?!" a voice shouted from Cell Block C.

Daryl and Carol looked in the voice's direction and saw Glenn running towards them with a shotgun in his hands.

"Where is he?" Glenn panted as he reached Daryl and Carol. "Where's the Governor?"

"You must've scared him off," Daryl quipped.

Glenn heard an engine and looked to his left to see Michonne driving a jeep towards Cell Block C. "It was Michonne the whole time?" he asked.

"Ain't you observant?" Daryl quipped again as he offered his M4A1 rifle to Carol. The housewife slung her own rifle over her shoulder, took Daryl's rifle, and walked towards Cell Block C.

Rick appeared at the top of the hill and walked through the open courtyard gate. "Glenn, could you help John on sentry duty at the gate?"

"Uh, yeah. You bet, Rick," Glenn answered awkwardly as Rick walked past him and Daryl, and headed for the parked jeep, and Michonne, who was climbing out of it.

Daryl stared at the Mossberg 500 shotgun in Glenn's hand and snatched it from him.

"Hey!" Glenn whined like a school boy whose lunch money was stolen from him.

Daryl racked the shotgun's pump. "You didn't have a shell in the damn chamber!" he growled at Glenn.

Glenn gulped, realizing that he could've run into a gunfight defenseless.

Daryl showed Glenn the shotgun's safety button, and pressed it. "Red means it's ready to fire."

Glenn nodded and Daryl handed the shotgun back to him. "Keep your finger off the damn trigger."

"Uh, yeah. Got it," Glenn blushed with embarrassment.

"Stick to deliverin' pizzas, Short Round," Daryl quipped as he walked towards Cell Block C.

Glenn looked around the courtyard, realized he was alone, and walked slowly downhill to help John on sentry duty.


	4. Chapter 4

**CHAPTER FOUR**

Michonne parked the Jeep Wrangler YJ in front of Cell Block D, climbed out of the driver's seat, reached into the rear seats, and pulled out her katana and scabbard; a light breeze rolled along and her hooded cape snapped in the air.

Jeanette slowly climbed out of the jeep's passenger seat, closed her eyes and lowered her head as the reality that Woodbury was burnt to the ground swept over her again. Michonne looked across the jeep at the older woman, but didn't know what to say to comfort her. Michonne's stay in Woodbury was brief, and she caught on quickly that the Governor ran the town through lies and manipulation, but to Jeanette, Woodbury was a town where she had found shelter, security, and community.

"Michonne," a voice called out.

Michonne turned to her right and saw Rick walking towards her.

"Are you all right?" Rick asked Michonne as he stood in front of her.

"I'm fine," Michonne answered.

"You said Woodbury burned to the ground, you must've breathed in some smoke."

"Not that much."

"Maybe Hershel should check you over."

Michonne slung her katana over her back and shook her head. "I said I'm fine," she said politely but firmly.

Rick nodded at the closed iron door that led to Cell Block D. "Are you going to tell the Woodburians what happened?"

Michonne thought about for a moment. "Yeah," she nodded. "I owe it to Andrea. I was angry at her for staying in Woodbury, and for being naïve enough to think the Governor was serious about a peace treaty between him and us. But the truth is Andrea didn't want anyone else to die."

Rick considered Michonne's answer and he nodded in agreement.

Michonne reached behind the small of her back and pulled out her Glock 19 pistol. "Here," she said as she offered it to Rick. "I'd appreciate it if you held onto this until I'm ready to go back out there."

"Only if you let me tag along when you talk to those people," Rick said. "John asked me to tell his wife that he volunteered to take Jeanette's place on sentry duty."

Michonne nodded in agreement. Rick took the pistol, kept his finger off the trigger as he aimed at the ground, pulled the slide back, saw it was loaded, eased the slide forward, and tucked the pistol behind the small of his back.

Michonne looked at Jeanette again; she was now looking up at the blue sky, and her hand was clenching the collar of her jacket. "Jeanette," Michonne said softly.

Jeanette looked at Michonne.

"Are you ready to step inside?" Michonne asked.

Jeanette nodded. "I think so, honey."

Rick walked over to Jeanette and smiled. "Here," he said as he gently placed his hand on her forearm. "Let me escort you inside."

Jeanette giggled in embarrassment as Rick led her towards the steps to Cell Block D. Michonne adjusted the weight of the katana slung over her back and followed Rick and Jeanette.

The iron door to Cell Block D slid open slightly and Rick stopped in his tracks. He saw a pair of eyes staring at him between the iron door and the doorframe. "Rick?" a young woman's voiced asked.

"Yes?" Rick answered.

The iron door slid open completely and Sasha Williams stood in the doorway, with a Mossberg 500 shotgun aimed at the staircase's concrete landing. Sasha looked at the fence line in the distance and looked down the staircase at Rick. "Where's the Governor?" she asked.

Rick looked over his shoulder at Michonne and looked up the staircase at Sasha. "The Governor?" he asked with a grin.

"Marianna ran into the cell block shouting there was a car coming," Sasha explained. "Michael thought that the Governor was back and everyone except John started to panic. Where is John?"

"He's all right; watching the gate with Glenn. Jeanette needs a rest," Rick answered.

Jeanette looked up the staircase at Sasha and smiled.

"Then…who was in the car?" Sasha asked with a shrug.

"Me," Michonne answered as she brushed past Rick and Jeanette, "And there's something I need to say to the people in this cell block.

Sasha looked fearfully at the black woman with the dreadlocks, the hooded cape, and the samurai sword slung over her back and climbing up the staircase. "Uh…I'm afraid we've never really met—"

"Michonne," the intimidating woman said as she offered her hand to Sasha.

Sasha moved the Mossberg 500 shotgun to her left hand and shook Michonne's hand. "Uh, Michonne…" she said, fishing for a surname.

"Michonne," the intimidating woman said with finality.

"Michonne!" Sasha shouted nervously as she shook hands faster. "I'm Sasha. Sasha Williams!"

"It's a pleasure to meet you."

"Same here!"

Michonne pulled her hand free of Sasha's grasp, walked past the younger woman and stepped inside Cell Block D. Rick and Jeanette walked up the staircase, with Jeanette going inside the cell block while Rick stayed on the landing with Sasha.

"Can I have that shotgun please?" Rick asked.

Sasha looked at the shotgun in her hand and offered it to Rick; he took it and flicked the safety to the "on" position.

"That woman was with you and the redneck when you came to Woodbury," Sasha said.

"Yes, she was," Rick answered.

Sasha glanced inside the cell block and looked back at Rick. "She's dangerous," she whispered.

"Yes, she is," Rick agreed.

•••

Michonne stepped into the common room of Cell Block D and stood atop its staircase. She found the Woodburians were huddled together and looking up at her liked a colony of rats looking up at an exterminator. Tyreese stood in the right corner, beside the barred door that led to the cellblock, he held his claw hammer in hand, determined to fight to the death no matter how outgunned and outnumbered he was. An old woman with dyed auburn hair peaked from behind Tyreese and she placed her hand on his forearm; Tyreese looked over his shoulder and a moment later, reluctantly stepped aside.

Donna stepped out from behind Tyreese and began walking towards the woman atop the common room's steps. "I remember you. You're Andrea's friend…Michonne."

Michonne smiled at the mention of Andrea's name. "Yes, Mrs. Boyd."

The other Woodburians glanced at each other and started to relax; the barred door to the cellblock swung open and more Woodburians stepped inside the common room.

"Marianna said there was a car coming down the road," Donna said. "We were afraid the Governor had come back."

"I was the one driving the car, Mrs. Boyd." Michonne explained. "And the Governor hasn't come back."

Footsteps echoed behind Michonne and Jeanette appeared in the vestibule doorway. Michonne politely stepped aside, and the older woman held onto the handrail and walked down the staircase.

"Jeanette!" Marianna cried as she rushed towards her friend and embraced her. "I'm sorry, Jeanette. I'm sorry! I wasn't…I wasn't any help to you out there."

"It's okay, honey. It's okay," Jeanette whispered as she hugged Marianna.

A few moments later more footsteps echoed behind Michonne; Rick (carrying the shotgun) and Sasha appeared in the vestibule doorway. Sasha walked down the steps and across the room into the open arms of her big brother Tyreese. Rick walked down the steps and over to Donna.

"Donna. John volunteered to take sentry duty from Marianna and Jeanette; he's okay and my friend Glenn's helping him."

Donna smiled, and took hold of Rick's hand. "Thank you, Rick."

Rick smiled at Donna, and he looked around the common room at the murmuring Woodburians he took into the prison, and who had shouted at this morning's meeting because he decided the young deer Daryl had brought back needed to feed the construction crew instead of their children and elderly. "Everyone, can I have your attention please?" he asked.

The Woodburians stopped talking and looked at Rick.

"Some of you may recognize Michonne from her brief stay at Woodbury," Rick said. "She left the prison yesterday because she had to finish something I don't agree with, but I understand why she had to try. Now she's back, and there's something she wants to tell all of you."

Rick nodded at Michonne, who lowered her head as she took a breath, looked up at the silent Woodburians, and took a few steps forward. "Yesterday morning, I left the prison with Daryl and Carol, but I had them let me out at the road to Woodbury. I went there because I wanted to kill the Governor."

Michonne's confession caused a stir of murmurs amongst the Woodburians. Rick stepped forward with his empty hand raised. "All right everyone. Please quiet down and let her talk."

The Woodburians quieted down and waited eagerly for Michonne to resume her story.

"On the way to Woodbury, I passed the…murder scene by the road (Michonne thought that was the gentlest way to describe the spot where the Governor slaughtered his army). I took a jeep and drove it the rest of the way, but when I reached Woodbury, It was on fire."

A thunderous shout burst from the Woodburians and they rushed towards Michonne, with their eyes wide with shock, their complexions pale, and asking numerous questions in unison.

"All right, back off!" Rick ordered as he stepped in front of the Woodburians; the palm of his right hand was out, signaling a halt, but in his left hand he gripped the Mossberg 500 shotgun with its stock facing the Woodburians, so if anyone rushed Michonne, he could use the stock to jab them in the stomach and knock them back without hurting them. "This woman has been through a lot, so back off, be quiet, and listen!"

The Woodburians glared at Rick but they backed off as he ordered. Rick glanced over his shoulder at Michonne, who nodded in appreciation; Rick nodded in return and took a step back, with both hands now holding onto the shotgun.

"Woodbury was on fire," Michonne resumed, "and the Governor set it."

"Why do you think it was the Governor?" Michael asked.

"Who else would have reason?" Michonne countered. "There were still weapons and ammunition there; plus there was shelter and supplies. If another group found Woodbury after we took you here, they would've done everything they could to keep it."

The Woodburians looked at each other and nodded fearfully.

"You all remember that we closed the gates before leaving Woodbury," Michonne continued, "well, they had been smashed open by something big, maybe an army troop transport or a semi-truck. I drove through the opening and parked the jeep. I saw the buildings along Main Street burning, and I saw dozens of walkers staring at the flames."

"What about the Governor?" Tyreese asked.

Michonne shook her head. "He wasn't out in the open."

"What did you do?"

"I drew my sword and cut a path through the walkers and towards the Governor's apartment building; I thought that was the likeliest place for him to hide, and the flames hadn't reached his building yet."

"Was he there?" Karen asked.

"No," Michonne answered. "I checked the whole apartment." (Michonne thought it wasn't necessary to tell everyone about the room where the Governor kept his collection of severed walker heads in fish tanks, or the adjoining closet where he kept his turned daughter Penny chained up and wearing a makeshift straitjacket.)

"Then what did you do?" Henry Matheson asked.

"I got out of that building as quickly as I could," Michonne answered.

"What did you see?"

•••

Michonne remembered running out of the Governor's burning apartment building with the edge of her hooded cape covering her nose and mouth; she fell onto the sidewalk, and as she coughed for air, looked up and saw the Governor, standing on Main Street, with hatred burning from his one eye.

•••

"I saw a walker," Michonne lied.

"So what?" Eddie asked. "You just told us you cut through some walkers like Reggie White cut through an offensive line."

"This walker seemed…different," Michonne explained.

The Woodburians looked at themselves and repeated Michonne's statement in hushed tones. Even Rick appeared as if Michonne had encountered a new breed of walker.

•••

Michonne remembered the Governor staggering towards her. "And what about you, Michonne?" he asked. "I offered you a home, a spot on Merle's security team. You could've helped keep this town safe. You could've kept Andrea safe, but you refused; all because you didn't like me."

•••

"It was…stronger than I thought," Michonne added.

"You had a gun, why didn't you shoot it?" Karen asked.

•••

Michonne remembered pistol whipping the Governor twice; the first blow dropped him to his knees, and the second blow cracked open his skull. The Governor covered his wound with his hands, but he started laughing like a madman.

•••

"I didn't shoot it because the shot would've attracted more of them," Michonne explained.

"So, you used your sword, right?"

•••

Michonne remembered drawing her katana as the Governor rose to his feet and staggered towards her again. "I'm sorry about Penny," she said.

"Do you think an apology will bring my little girl back?" The Governor asked. "Do you think an apology will end this war?"

"No, it won't," Michonne answered. "But I didn't know Penny was your daughter. And this war should've stayed between the both of us. Andrea, Rick, and the others…they never should've been dragged into it."

The Governor nodded as he opened and closed his fists. "So are you ready to end this?" he asked.

"I am," Michonne answered.

The Governor growled like an angry wolf and he ran towards Michonne with his hands out to grasp her.

Michonne swung her katana.

SHLOKK!

The sword sliced through the Governor's neck and his head flipped backwards in the air while his body continued moving forward. Michonne stepped aside and the Governor's body staggered past her and fell onto Main Street while his head landed behind it at the same moment. Michonne spun the sword in her hand and drove it into the Governor's forehead; she put her foot on his face, pulled her sword free, and a thin stream of blood and brain matter flew off the blade. Michonne looked down at her vanquished enemy and her eyes widened and her mouth dropped open in shock; the face staring up at her wasn't the Governor's…it was an old, male walker, with decaying skin, shoulder length white hair, and cloudy eyes that were once yellow with anger.

•••

"Yes, I used my sword to kill it," Michonne answered. "It wasn't as special as I thought."

"So did you keep looking?" retired postal worker Floyd Townsend asked timidly.

"I did," Michonne answered

"Where?" Henry asked.

"The place where we found Andrea…dying," Michonne answered with a pang of heartbreak in her voice. "The warehouse."

•••

"I joked once that I saved your ass all winter, but the truth is you saved mine more times than I can count," Andrea admitted. "You warned me about the Governor, but I wouldn't listen. When I visited the prison I could've stayed, but I didn't. When the peace conference between Rick and the Governor failed, Hershel asked me to go back with them, but I didn't. I had plenty of chances to leave, but I didn't take them until it was too late. That's my fault, not yours, so stop blaming yourself."

Michonne looked at Andrea as her confession sunk in. "All right," she nodded.

"Good," Andrea said. "Now, there are two things you have to promise me."

"What are they?" Michonne asked.

"First: don't stop looking for the Governor. And when you find him…kill him. Because if you don't he'll come back and kill the group."

Michonne nodded.

"Second: you have to put me down."

"No!" Michonne pleaded.

"You have to," Andrea repeated firmly. "Otherwise I'll turn. And when I turn, I'll bite you, and then what's happening to me will happen to you."

Michonne looked at the dying Andrea for a few moments and she made her decision. "All right," she nodded.

"Thank you, Michonne," Andrea smiled softly.

Michonne picked up her Glock 19 pistol and stood up; she and Andrea looked sadly at each other for a few moments until Andrea nodded, Michonne nodded in return and aimed her pistol at Andrea's forehead. Andrea took one last breath and closed her eyes. Michonne's hand started to tremble, but she kept her pistol aimed on Andrea's forehead.

BANG!

The 9mm bullet smashed into Andrea's forehead, went through her brain, exited out the back of her head and became embedded in the wall. A second later Andrea's upper body struck the wall, and she slid slowly to the floor, leaving a smear of blood and brain matter from the bullet hole to the floor where she came to rest on her right side.

Michonne's ears rang; she blinked her eyes and saw that Andrea was gone, so was the bloody smear her head left as her upper body slid onto the floor. All that was left was the bullet hole in the wall. Andrea hadn't been in the torture room, just like the Governor hadn't been standing on Main Street. Michonne, Rick, and Daryl had taken Andrea's body back to the prison the day before, and the Governor was gone.

•••

"Was the Governor hiding in the warehouse?" Tyreese asked.

Michonne looked down at the floor for a moment. "No," she answered when she looked up at the Woodburians. "The warehouse was empty."

The Woodburian's quietly contemplated Michonne's story until Greg said, "So you're telling us that crazy son of a bitch got away?"

Michonne glanced at the floor, looked at Greg and answered "Yes. I must've missed him by just a few minutes."

Greg and several of the Woodburians shouted with rage and rushed Michonne.

Rick stood in front of the Woodburians again, but this time he struck Gregg in the stomach with the butt of the shotgun, and the man fell to the floor.

The Woodburians looked down at Greg, coughing for air, and a moment later they were looking up in disbelief at Rick.

Rick gestured with his free hand at the prone Greg. "Help him up," he ordered.

Sam and Floyd knelt down, put their arms around Gregg's shoulders, and pulled him up. Gregg was moaning in pain and rubbing his stomach; a moment later he doubled over and vomited out the oatmeal he ate for breakfast.

The Woodburians groaned in disgust at the sight and smell of the vomit on the floor, and looked up at Rick, standing in front of them with the shotgun in his left hand like a baseball player standing on the on-deck circle.

"Back off," Rick ordered.

The Woodburians backed off as Rick ordered.

"Rick," Michonne said quietly.

Rick looked over his shoulder at Michonne; she gestured for him to step back. Rick looked at the Woodburians one more time and after deciding they were going to stay still, he stepped back as Michonne requested.

Michonne looked at the Woodburians, their numbers were few but their expressions were many: hatred, pity, anger, fear, confusion, and uncertainty. Michonne closed her eyes, took a breath, and looked at the Woodburians again.

"I wanted to be the one who told you that Woodbury was gone because of Andrea," Michonne explained. "She and I had known each other for less than a year, but I was lucky to have her as a friend.

"Andrea was an open book; told me about growing up in Florida, about her little sister Amy, and the road trip they were on when the walkers stopped them outside Atlanta; she told me about her group, described them to a T. She told me everything, but I told her nothing. I never told her that I was a lawyer too. We could've killed hours of time thinking up jokes about lawyers, walkers, and the end of the world."

•••

Michonne thought about her and Andrea, walking side by side down a deserted road last fall, with her two "pet walkers" behind them. The pets had their arms and jaws cut off and around their necks was a metal ring that was attached to long chain that Michonne held in her hand.

Andrea looked at Michonne and smiled. "Personal trainer," she said confidently.

"No," Michone answered, looking straight ahead.

Andrea's mouth dropped open and looked at Michonne's thin frame and her strong, feminine arm that held the chains to the two pet walkers. "You're kidding! In the shape you're in that must've been your job!"

"It wasn't." Michonne said.

After a few minutes of walking silently along the street, Andrea looked out the corner of her eye at the katana slung over Michonne's back. "Martial artist instructor," she said.

"No."

Andrea growled in frustration. "Come on! You wield that sword like Toshiro Mifune! You must've been a martial artist instructor!"

"No."

"Then where did you get the sword?" Andrea asked as she pointed at the katana hanging from Michonne's back.

"I found it when I needed it," Michonne answered.

Andrea shook her head. 'I found it when I needed it,' she repeated sarcastically. "With that line you probably wrote for a fortune cookie company."

"No."

"Well, I'm not giving up, Michonne. I'll guess your career sooner or later. We've got all the time in the world now."

A hint of a smile appeared on Michonne's stoic face. "Good luck," she said.

•••

Michonne smiled at the memory of her and Andrea; it was real, unlike the illusions of Andrea and the Governor in Woodbury yesterday. Michonne's smile faded away and she resumed her speech.

"When the Governor brought us to Woodbury, Andrea thought we had found an oasis in a desert. She also thought she found someone special in the Governor. I thought Andrea was being naïve on both counts, but I said that brusquely. I don't know why I was so harsh towards her then. If I wasn't maybe she'd…

A tear rolled down Michonne's face and she wiped it away with a fingertip. "Andrea chose to stay in Woodbury, and I used to think it was because of the Governor, but after all I've experienced, I think she really stayed because of the town itself, and all of you."

The Woodburians looked at each other and mumbled in surprise.

"Woodbury was a town surrounded by walls, but it was still a town. There were stores, restaurants, apartment buildings, and a park. But most of all, it had people. People of various races, creeds, and ages, but they were all good and they pulled together to make Woodbury thrive. You're the ones that made Woodbury thrive, not the Governor; he betrayed all of you, and he betrayed Andrea.

"I'm sorry you had to leave Woodbury, and I'm sorry that it's burnt to ashes. But you have the prison now; it may be cold, dark, and uncomfortable, but we can make it stronger than Woodbury. We can replace the gate, and we can bring in furniture, and we can plant gardens and get drinking water from the stream outside."

"But what about the Governor?" Sam asked nervously.

"I'll go looking for him again soon, and I'll keep on looking until I find him. And if he comes back here, we'll stop him," Michonne said as she put her hand on Rick's shoulder. "We'll defend this prison, from the Governor, and from the walkers."

Rick looked at Michonne, realized that she now identified herself as a member of his group, and he smiled.

Michonne took her hand away from Rick's shoulder and turned around to leave Cell Block D, when Donna said, "Michonne?"

Michonne stood profile and looked at Donna. "Yes, Mrs. Boyd?"

"Please, call me Donna," the older woman said with a smile.

Michonne smiled and nodded in appreciation. "Yes, Donna."

Donna nodded in return. Michonne walked up the vestibule steps and left Cell Block D.

•••

"Good speech," Rick said as he joined Michonne on the courtyard.

"I've given a few of them in court," Michonne smiled.

Rick and Michonne looked at each other for a few moments, finally Michonne said, "Remember what I asked you, back in yours and Carl's hometown?"

"Yeah, If I see things. People," Rick answered.

"I saw Andrea and the Governor in Woodbury yesterday, and I saw the Governor again outside a house I stayed for the night," Michonne confessed.

Rick nodded in understanding

"Are you still seeing things?"

Rick looked at the catwalk overhead, it was the spot he had last scene Lori's spirit. "Not recently," he admitted.

"Oh, maybe I'm doing something wrong," Michonne quipped.

"That's just it. I haven't seen Lori since the morning we were preparing our trap for the Governor," Rick explained. "I thought that meant Lori was at peace, but maybe there's more to it than that. Maybe it meant by bringing those Woodburians here, I made the right decision and now Lori can be at peace."

Michonne considered Rick's theory and she nodded. "When I saw Andrea, she said I shouldn't blame myself for her death. She had her chances to leave Woodbury, but she didn't take them until it was too late. She's right. People are responsible for their own actions. It's been that way since the beginning of civilization."

Rick nodded sympathetically.

"Maybe that means Andrea can be at peace too," Michonne theorized.

"I hope so," Rick said.

"So do I," Michonne agreed.

"Michonne! Michonne!" a young voice called out.

Michonne and Rick looked towards Cell Block D, and saw Carl running towards them. The boy leapt at Michonne and wrapped his arms around her waist. "You're back!" he cheered as he embraced her tightly.

"I missed you to," Michonne laughed as she stumbled but managed to keep her footing.

Rick chuckled and shook his head. "I warned you he'd do that."

"You did," Michonne admitted as she hugged Carl back.

"Did you get him, Michonne?" Carl asked as she looked up at the newest member of the group. "Did you get the Governor?"

"Not yet," Michonne answered.


	5. Chapter 5

**CHAPTER FIVE**

It was the morning after Michonne's return to the prison and Rick's group (minus Glenn and Maggie) along with the Woodburians were gathering atop the two aluminum benches on the courtyard. Rick stood in the center of the courtyard, his jacket was buttoned to his throat, and the palm of his right hand rested on the walnut grips of his Colt Python revolver. Behind Rick stood Eddie and Juan, in front of them was a prison laundry cart, but instead of linens, Eddie's cart contained homemade stabbing weapons carved from wooden broom poles or filed from metal rebar, and Juan's cart held field tools and athletic gear like brush hooks and aluminum baseball bats.

"Good morning, everyone," Rick said warmly.

Rick's group smiled or nodded in greeting, but the Woodburians grumbled or waved a hand; a few said "Good morning, Rick," in return.

"I understand there might be hard feelings because so few had meat, while so many had oatmeal, but today is where that sacrifice starts to pay off," Rick announced. "Today we'll install the new gate, and after that, I'll announce the group members for the supply run. Once we've restocked the pantry, we can start the other rebuilding projects like adding that… **that thing with the stakes** Hershel talked about."

"That **thing** is called a **Cheval de frise** ," Hershel smiled as he corrected Rick.

"Yeah, a Cheval de frise," Rick said with a thumbs up towards Hershel.

A good natured chuckle rippled across Rick's group and the Woodburians.

"Anyway, while the construction crew is putting up the new gate, the rest of us have to protect them from any walkers that might show up, that's why we've brought out these weapons," Rick said as he thumbed over his shoulder at the three laundry carts behind him. "Eddie and Juan spent yesterday afternoon sharpening broomstick poles and metal bars into stabbing weapons."

The Woodburians looked at the two laundry carts filled with homemade or improvised weapons and they began to mutter their fears amongst themselves.

"Some of you haven't killed a walker since you settled in Woodbury; most of you haven't killed a walker at all. Believe me when I tell you that you can kill a walker," Rick said.

"Stay behind the fences for protection, but don't bunch up at the gate. If walkers show up, make all the noise you can to attract their attention and keep them away from the gate and the construction crew. When the walkers get close enough, thrust your weapon at their eyes or their foreheads; destroy the brain, and you kill the walker.

"If some of the walkers ignore you and go for the construction crew, let Michonne, Glenn, Maggie, and myself handle them. No offense, guys, but I don't want any of you reaching for a club while you're juggling one of those iron doors."

A chuckle rose up from the men chosen for the construction crew.

"Hey, Rick," John called out with his hand raised.

"Yes, John?"

"Where's Dixon during all of this?" John asked as he gestured across the courtyard at the redneck sitting with the rest of Rick's group on the other bench. Daryl refused to join the construction crew yesterday, resulting in an argument between him and John.

"Daryl's going to be our lookout," Rick answered as he pointed at one of the destroyed guard towers. If he spots any walkers, he'll call out."

John glared at Daryl and snorted in contempt. "A lookout, huh? So you went from not giving a damn, to getting a damn good view!"

Daryl grinned at John and gestured at one of the guard towers. "Did you see Saving Private Ryan? If a herd shows up, you better not move too slow, or I might think you're a walker and shoot an arrow through your damn skull!"

Some in both groups chuckled, others muttered about the obvious tension between the Vietnam veteran and the redneck. Carol, sitting beside Daryl, worried that another argument might break out between him and John, so she discreetly held Daryl's forearm to keep him calm and seated. Daryl sat still, but the feeling of Carol's hand on his forearm made him blush.

"All right, that's enough," Rick said with his hand raised for silence. "Daryl told us why he's not helping with the gate, but he's more help to us up on the tower; he's saved my life a few times with that crossbow. Now let's get to work. Construction crew: follow Henry to the motor pool. Everyone else: chose a weapon."

Rick's group and the Woodburians stepped down from the bleachers. The construction crew, consisting of John, Tyreese, Eddie, Charlie, and Greg followed Henry towards the motor pool, while the adult Woodburians rummaged through the two laundry carts for a stabbing weapon of their liking.

•••

Glenn and Maggie were on sentry duty behind the prison squad car that served as a temporary gate. They both wore their riot armor, but they left their gauntlets and their helmets beside the guard tower. Maggie held the Gerber Camp Axe II, while Glenn held the Gerber Survival Series Parang; both tools were from the blade collection Carl found on the highway last year.

Glenn held a pair of binoculars to his eyes and was looking down the deserted road while Maggie was looking uphill as the group meeting on the courtyard broke up. "Look at him," she said with disgust.

"Hmm?" Glenn asked as he lowered the binoculars and looked over his shoulder at his fiancée.

"Daryl," Maggie nodded as she glared at the group's hunter.

Glenn turned around and looked uphill as Daryl and Carol stood side by side on the courtyard; they seemed to be waiting to talk with Rick. "What about Daryl?" Glenn asked.

"He makes me sick," Maggie answered as she looked at her fiancé.

"How come?"

"Because he thinks he's Rambo."

Glenn chuckled. "Well, he did pull an arrow out of his side. That's real badass."

"Yeah, his own arrow; an arrow he fell on," Maggie pointed out.

"Well…your dad's horse did throw him and that's how he ended up with that arrow—"

"And he's a racist," Maggie interrupted.

Glenn blinked. "Huh?"

Maggie huffed angrily and threw down the hatchet with such force, its sharp blade stuck in the gravel road. "You know what I'm talking about: Daryl got into an argument with that old man and called you 'the Korean'."

Glenn put the binoculars and the parang on the hood of the prison's squad car and faced his fiancée again. "Come on, Maggie. You're making a big deal out of—"

"That's not the first time Daryl talked about you like that. Remember the joke about Asian drivers when we reunited on the highway?"

"It was a **joke** , Maggie," Glenn argued.

"But it bothered you, Glenn. I heard it in your voice."

"Can you forget about this please?" Glenn asked as he shifted his posture uncomfortably.

"Why are you defending Daryl?" Maggie asked as she walked over to Glenn. "Are you afraid of him?"

"No!" Glenn shouted. A moment later he looked down at the gravel road and kicked at it with the toe of his boot. "Well, he did grab me by the throat," Glenn muttered as he rubbed his neck gingerly.

"Exactly!" Maggie exclaimed as she threw up her hands. "Do you think Daryl would've attacked Shane, or Rick? Of course not! Instead he attacks the Asian guy."

Glenn looked at Maggie for a few moments, but he started to shake his head. "No. I insulted Merle. If somebody had insulted my sisters, I would've done the same—"

"What you said was wrong, but do you think you deserve to be beaten for it?"

"I didn't say that."

"Then what are you saying, Glenn?"

Glenn said nothing and he turned towards the prison's squad car and rested his arms on its hood. Maggie frowned and took a step towards Glenn. "I'm sorry," she said as she placed her hand on her fiancé's shoulder. "But you were risking your life for this group before we even met. You were the one who led me and Tyreese into the tombs to get the guns the Governor's army dropped. You're smart. You're brave. You deserve to be respected. You should talk to Daryl and tell him to stop the racist comments."

Glenn stood tall and looked at Maggie. "Do you really think I should talk to Daryl?"

Maggie took hold of Glenn's hand and squeezed it gently. "Yes, I do."

•••

"Hey, Dad!" Carl called out.

Rick was walking towards Cell Block C but stopped in his tracks when he heard Carl's voice. He looked to his right and saw Carl running towards him.

"What it is it, Carl?" Rick asked.

Carl stopped running and stood in front of his father. "Can I help you and Michonne if walkers show up?"

Rick shook his head. "No. I need you to stay on the courtyard."

Carl frowned and lowered his head, his face obscured by his battered Stetson hat. "Come on, Dad…" he whined.

"You can't help out on this one, Carl," Rick said firmly.

"I can't help out on any of them," Carl mumbled angrily.

"Carl, most of the Woodburians aren't just senior citizens and kids, they're sheltered. They don't know how to kill walkers and I don't want you along the fence if they panic and cause a breach."

Rick put his hand on Carl's back and guided him towards the laundry cart standing next to Cell Block C, but instead of homemade weapons, this cart was stocked with rifles, shotguns, and other military and police items. "Stay here and guard the guns and ammo," Rick said.

Carl looked wide-eyed at his father.

"If walkers show up and breach the fences, we're going to have to put them down before they overrun the prison. The only people who can take a gun from this cart are from our group, Karen, Sasha, and John Boyd, all right?"

"You're letting that old guy have a gun, after all the crap he said to you?" Carl asked incredulously.

"Carl, watch your mouth," Rick said firmly.

Carl lowered his head, but he huffed in frustration.

"John and I worked out our differences. If he needs a firearm, let him take one."

"If I do, will you let me go on that food run?" Carl asked.

Rick looked at his son for a moment, and said, "I'm not negotiating with you, Carl. If I let you go along, it'll be because I think you're mature enough to follow orders and contribute to the mission."

Carl lowered his head, but this time it was in shame. "Yes, Dad," he whispered.

Rick smiled and put his hand on Carl's shoulder. "Thank you, son."

Carl walked over to Cell Block C, put his back to the wall, and sat down with his arms wrapped around his knees.

Michonne kept a respectful distance during Rick and Carl's conversation; now that it was over, she walked over to the group's leader. "Rick," she said.

Rick turned around and looked and the newest member of the group.

"I'm sorry," Michonne said.

"For what?" Rick asked.

"The trouble between you and Carl," Michonne answered. "Before I left to hunt the Governor I said you and Carl will work it out. It seems like it'll be tougher than I thought."

"You're not the only one who's noticed. Hershel's concerned about Carl too."

"It's not just Carl I'm worried about," Michonne confessed.

Rick's complexion went pale. "Wha…what do you mean?" he stammered.

"Rick, you not only have to take care of Carl, you also have a baby girl and everyone in this prison. Just how long do you think you can keep going?"

Rick lowered his head, ran a hand through his hair, and sighed wearily. It was hard admitting it to himself, but he was tired. Daryl was a good second-in-command, and he hoped John would ease tensions with the Woodburians, but he still felt that he had to carry the weight for everyone.

"I appreciate what you're saying, Michonne. But we're too weak for me to start sharing responsibility with others," Rick said as he looked at the sword wielding woman. "Maybe I'll think about it after we've rebuild the prison."

"All right," Michonne nodded. "But I volunteer to go on that supply run."

"Are you sure about that?" Rick asked. "You've been through a lot recently. It won't hurt to rest a few days."

"I'm sure," Michonne answered as she turned around to walk away. "See you at the fence."

•••

Rick watched Michonne walk away when he spotted Daryl and Carol walking towards him. "Are you two ready?" Rick asked the redneck and the housewife.

"Ready as we'll ever be," Daryl answered as he picked up his Stryker Stryekzone 380 crossbow that he left leaning against the staircase. Daryl had placed a scope on the sight bridge, and he also replaced the arrow he lost in the gunfight at the feed mill with one of his spare arrows, but its yellow and red vanes made it look odd amongst the white and green vanes of the four other arrows set in the crossbow's quiver.

"Okay. Keep a sharp eye. It's fine with me if you shoot a walker or two with your crossbow, but let some of them make it to the fence."

Daryl glanced at Rick, slung his crossbow over his shoulder, and picked up the plastic green tube he used as a quiver for his spare arrows. "You're turnin' into a bloodthirsty son of a bitch, ain't ya?"

"No. These people need to get over their fear of the walkers. It may as well be today."

"Whatever," Daryl said as he spun the quiver's strap around his left hand so it wouldn't drag along the ground.

Carol looked worriedly at Carl, before she began rummaging through the laundry cart, and take out Dale Horvath's Remington 700 bolt action rifle. "Don't shoot that rifle unless you absolutely half to," Rick ordered.

"I won't," Carol said as she slung the rifle over her shoulder. Carol reached into the laundry cart again, took out a box of .308 Winchester ammunition, and a pair of binoculars. Daryl waited as Carol slipped the box into a coat pocket, unwound the binocular's strap, and put it around her neck. Once Carol was ready, she and Daryl walked side-by-side towards the guard tower that stood beside the courtyard's gate.

"Can I ask you a question?" Carol asked as she looked at Daryl.

Daryl grunted in approval.

"Why do want me to join you up there? It's not the same as needing someone to watch your back."

Daryl thought back to the moment on his recent deer hunt when he decided Carol felt the same for him as he did for her. But how could he put those feelings into words? The line he gave her when he returned yesterday ("I'm gettin' used to havin' you around") was sincere, but he knew that he couldn't use that again. Daryl tried to think of something to say, but nothing good came to mind. He griped the strap of his crossbow tightly and he threw up his left arm in frustration, and when his arm came down, the improvised quiver struck his leg, and the quiver twisted around on its strap like a Dreamcatcher twisting from a tree limb in a gust of wind. Finally Daryl said, "I…I don't want to be alone."

Carol smiled and lowered her head as she a light brush appeared on her face. "You're not alone, Daryl," she whispered, as she repeated the words she said yesterday when she realized that she might be in love with him.

Daryl grunted in confusion as he looked perplexed at Carol.

"Nothing," Carol said cheerfully as she looked up at Daryl.

Daryl opened the guard tower's door; inside was a winding staircase that ascended to a trap door. Daryl motioned for Carol to step inside, she nodded in appreciation and stepped into the tower, and Daryl followed.

•••

The adult Woodburians young and strong enough to help put down any walkers had chosen their weapons and were now walking down to the fence line. Michael and Alicia walked downhill with three Woodburians to a section of the fence line, both held wooden broomsticks with tape wrapped around one end for leverage and the other end being a sharp point. As the couple got closer to the fence line, Alicia's heart began beating harder and she panted for breath as she sunk to her knees.

Michael had taken two steps before he realized Alicia was in trouble; he ran back to his wife and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. "What's wrong, honey?" he asked worriedly.

"I…I won't do this," Alicia panted.

Michael looked at the three other Woodburians who had reached the fence line; they were looking back at him and Alicia with curiosity and concern. "Honey, you've got to stand up and go with me to the fence," he begged. "We have to help protect the construction crew from the walkers."

"No," Alicia said as she looked up at her husband with tears in her eyes. "I won't kill people."

Michael's eyes widened and he knelt down beside Alicia so he could whisper in her ear. "They're not people anymore."

Alicia looked at Michael in disbelief. A moment later Michael slipped a hand under Alicia's arm, stood up and pulled her to her feet, and began pulling his wife towards the fence line.

•••

"Viola!" Henry said cheerfully and a flourish of his hand.

John, Tyreese, Eddie, Charlie, and Greg were lined up like army recruits as Henry showed them the iron door on the side of the motor pool.

"Very nice, Henry," John grumbled with his arms folded across his chest. "Could you snap your fingers so that door will pop off its hinges and float down to the fence?"

Henry's smile faded and was replaced with a scowl. "You're a real comedian, John."

John grinned. "Well, good humor makes work lighter."

"Do we have WD-40 for this job?" Charlie asked. "Because the screws and hinges on these doors have been rusting since the day it was installed."

Henry knelt down and rummaged through the plastic milk crate he placed beside the motor pool. "I've got two cans right here," he answered as he held both cans up in the air. "That should be enough for this door and the one around back."

"All right," John said as he clapped his hands together. "We'll take one door down at a time. Let's get to work."

The construction crew muttered in agreement; Tyreese patted Eddie on the back.

John reached into his jacket pocket and took out a set of car keys. "Charlie. Gregg. Hitch the flatbed trailer to the Dodge; after we remove the doors from their hinges, we'll use the truck to carry them to the fence."

"You've got it," Charlie nodded.

John tossed the keys to Charlie, he caught them with both hands, and he and Gregg walked towards the small collection of automobiles on the courtyard.

Henry put one can of WD-40 back in the milk crate and removed the cap from the other as he walked over the motor pool's door and sprayed the WD40 on the iron door's rusted screws and hinges. The construction foreman stepped back and watched patiently as the spray ate through the decades of rust. John walked over to the battered metal tool box, opened the lid, and rummaged through it until he found the flathead screwdrivers, and the adjustable wrench.

•••

Daryl and Carol sat on the edge of the bombed out box of the guard tower with their feet dangling like they were sitting on the edge of a dock. Daryl's crossbow was loaded and lying on the debris strewn floor behind him, with his quiver of spare arrows beside it. Carol held her binoculars to her eyes and was scanning the tree line for walkers; the Remington 700 bolt action rifle was lying behind her.

"GI Joe was right about one thing: it is a damn good view," Daryl said as he looked at the forest with its multiple colors of early autumn below a clear blue sky.

Carol lowered her binoculars and smiled at Daryl. "It is, but don't start day dreaming. Rick and the others are counting on us to warn them of any walkers."

Daryl looked downhill at the prison squad car that served as temporary gate and saw Rick talking to Glenn, Maggie, and Michonne. Daryl grunted in agreement with Carol, and she looked at the tree line and raised the binoculars to her eyes again.

A minute later, Daryl dug into his leather vest pocket and took out the pack of Marlboro cigarettes; he opened the pack and shook it so the remaining cigarettes rattled about inside. "Want one?" he asked Carol.

Carol lowered her binoculars slightly and glanced at the cigarette pack. "No thanks," she said quickly as she resumed keeping watch.

Daryl took one cigarette and put it between his lips. "It won't bother you?" he asked Carol worriedly.

"It won't," Carol answered as she continued looking through her binoculars.

Daryl put the cigarette pack back in his pocket, took out his nickel plated Zippo lighter, lit his cigarette and took a drag and blew out the smoke. _Shit, Casanova, you're finally alone with Carol, so tell her somethin'!_ He thought angrily.

Daryl took another drag, blew out the smoke, and repeated the ritual a few more times as he concentrated on what he should say to Carol. A few minutes later a pounding headache started. Daryl took the cigarette from his lips, blew out the smoke and looked at Carol. "Thanks for joinin' me up here," he said.

Carol lowered her binoculars and looked at Daryl. "You're welcome," she smiled.

A moment later, Carol looked back at the tree line and raised her binoculars to her eyes again.

Daryl's headache stopped and his jaw dropped open. _Fuck! Was that the best you could do? 'Thanks for joinin' me up here'?_ he thought. _Goddammit! Without your motorcycle or a bar, you're lost when it comes to pickin' up women, ain't you?_

Daryl looked out at the forest and closed his mouth; a few minutes later he glanced down at the cigarette between his fingers, and ground it out on the floor of the destroyed guard box. Daryl wiped his hands clean, and returned to looking at the forest bathed in the colors of early autumn.

Carol slowly moved her head right to left as she watched the tree line through her binoculars. _It was sweet of Daryl to say that, but I was hoping he'd say something more…intimate,_ Carol thought.

 _Maybe I should say something to him?_

Carol lowered her binoculars slightly. _No. If it took Daryl that long to say that little, then that's all he's going to say. Besides, we have to keep a lookout for walkers, not start a romance._

•••

Rick stood behind the prison's squad car and looking down at the gravel road, in his hand was the Gerber Gator Machete that he used to clear the prison's courtyard several weeks ago. Michonne, Glenn and Maggie stood nearby, and the Wooodburians were spread out along the fence line.

"What's taking them so long?" Maggie asked as she gestured up the hill at the prison.

Rick looked up at the prison; the Woodburian children went about the courtyard while the Woodburian elderly talked amongst themselves. There was no sign of the construction crew, and the iron doors from the motor pool. "The screws and hinges on those doors must be rusted pretty good, I'm sure they're working as fast as they can," Rick answered.

"What about the design for this new gate? Will it work?" Michonne asked.

"I think so," Rick answered. "Henry was a construction foreman, I trust him on this."

A human whistle cried from above; Rick, his group, and the Woodburians along the fence line all looked at the ruined guard tower atop the hill saw Daryl standing with the thumb and forefinger of his right hand in his mouth, and his crossbow in his left hand. Carol stood beside Daryl and she cupped both hands around her mouth and shouted "Walkers!"

Rick looked back at the forest just in time to see dozens of walkers coming out of the tree line, and staggering towards the prison.


	6. Chapter 6

**CHAPTER 6**

One of the women from Woodbury saw the walkers staggering towards the prison, and she screamed in terror.

The other Woodburians now saw the walkers and many of them screamed too; a few of them dropped their homemade weapons or field tools, all of them took several steps away from the fence line. When Floyd dropped the sharpened piece of rebar and ran uphill to the prison, it was like a nod of approval, and half the Woodburians followed the retired postal worker.

Rick had spun around at the sound of the Woman's screaming and now he watched in shock as Floyd lead half of the Woodburians away from the fence line. "Halt!" he shouted like he used to when he was a sheriff's deputy in King County, Georgia.

The Woodburians who were debating whether they should fight or flee froze in place.

"Get behind that fence now!" Rick ordered.

The remaining Woodburians picked up their homemade weapons and ran to the fence.

"Spread out! Draw their attention! Don't let them bunch up in front the car!"

The Woodburians followed Rick's orders, and broke off into pairs along the fence line as they screamed, waved, and banged their weapons against the chain link.

The approaching walkers' golden eyes glared at the shouting prey in front of them and the walkers began to spread out as they staggered closer to the fence.

Glenn and Maggie ran to the guard tower beside the squad car; they knelt down, put their blade weapons on the ground, put on their gauntlets and helmets, and stood up with their weapons in hand.

Rick tightened his grip on the Gerber Gator Machette as he climbed atop the hood of the squad car and stepped down so he was outside the fence.

Glenn raised his helmet's clear visor. "Rick, what are you—"

"We can't let any of them climb over the car!" Rick interrupted. "You and Maggie guard the right!"

Glenn lowered the helmet's visor and he and Maggie climbed over the trunk of the prison squad car as quickly as they could in their riot gear.

Michonne climbed atop the trunk, stepped down, and stood beside Rick, who was unbuttoning his jacket so he could move his arms freely. "Are you ready for this?" he asked.

Michonne glared at the approaching walkers and reached behind her back and drew her katana. "Absolutely," she answered.

Rick smiled at Michonne's limitless confidence and waited for the first walker to get close enough for him to strike it with his machete.

•••

Atop the destroyed watch tower, Carol picked up Dale's Remington 700 bolt action rifle, thumbed the safety to the "off" position, and watched worriedly as the walkers staggered closer to the fence line.

"The shots will just bring more of 'em," Daryl said as he thumbed the safety of his crossbow to the "off" position.

"I think we're past that," Carol replied as she watched more walkers stagger out of the forest. Soon, the group of walkers became a herd.

"Maybe," Daryl said as he brought his crossbow up to his shoulder and looked through the scope placed onto the sight bridge. "But we're up here and Rick's on the fence; if it gets bad, light 'em up."

The scope's sights lined up on a black teenage walker: it wore an oversized black T-shirt that had a black and white picture of Tupac Shakur printed on it, oversized jeans, and a gold chain caked with dry blood was around its neck; the left side of the walker's face was torn off along with its left ear.

Daryl squeezed the crossbow's trigger.

THUNK!

The arrow struck the teenage walker in the forehead, and it froze for a moment before it fell to the ground face first. The walkers behind the dead teenage walker stepped over it and continued on to the fence and the humans shouting and banging their weapons on the other side of it.

Daryl put the barrel of his crossbow on the floor, slipped his foot into the stirrup, and pulled the string back until it cocked; he slid his foot out of the stirrup, knelt down, selected a spare arrow from his green quiver, stood up, placed the arrow onto the crossbow's flight groove, and brought his crossbow up to his shoulder to take another shot.

•••

Michael had a comforting hand around Alicia's shoulders. Alicia held onto her sharpened broomstick pole like it was a flag pole and not a weapon. "We can't run. There's nowhere for us run to run to anymore," he said firmly.

Alicia nodded quickly as tears ran down her face; she was gripping the broomstick so tightly, her knuckles had turned white.

"They're not people anymore. We have to kill them," Michael said as he took his arm away from Alicia's shoulder and held his own sharpened broomstick with both hands.

"Okay," Alicia's voice cracked as she pointed her broomstick at the chain-link fence.

Across the fence, a fat male walker naked except for a pair of urine-stained briefs, a wristwatch and threadbare pair of socks staggered towards her. Alicia slid the sharpened point of the broomstick through the chain-link and waited for the fat walker to stagger closer.

•••

"Walkers! Walkers!" Floyd shouted as he ran onto the prison's courtyard.

Donna—her dyed auburn hair showing streaks of her natural white—turned towards the sound of the shouting and saw Floyd running across the courtyard. "Floyd, what're you—"

"There're walkers coming out of the woods!" Floyd shouted at Donna as he ran past her.

The old and young Woodburians looked down at the fence line and saw dozens of walkers staggering out of the forest. The old men cursed, the old women screamed, mothers cried for their children, and the children ran crying to their mothers.

As the Woodburians on the courtyard panicked, the ones that abandoned the fence line appeared and ran across the courtyard, shouting and screaming and adding to the confusion.

"Floyd!" Donna shouted as she began running after the retired postal worker. "What happened to Michonne? What happened to Rick?"

"I don't know!" Floyd shouted as he looked over his shoulder. "Just get in the cell block before it's too late!"

Donna stopped her poor attempt at running and turned around to see the deserters from the fence line running past their young and aged neighbors on the courtyard; it wouldn't be long before the rest of them would start screaming and running too. Donna looked in the direction of the motor pool and saw her husband John and the construction crew loading a heavy iron door onto the flatbed trailer attached to the truck. "John! John!" she shouted with her hands cupped around her mouth.

•••

Carl leapt to his feet and watched wide eyed as Floyd and several of the Woodburians ran across the courtyard, shouting that walkers were coming out of the woods. Soon, the people on the courtyard panicked and started to run towards Cell Block D. One of the men—Carl heard his name was Sam Dunbar— suddenly stopped in his tracks, grabbed hold of another man's arm, and started shouting at the other men to stop running and listen to him.

Carl narrowed his eyes, and his right hand slowly dropped to the holster at his side, unsnapped the thumb break, and waited for the crowd to turn into a mob.

"The guns!" Sam shouted as he pointed at the laundry cart Carl was standing beside. "Get the guns!"

The three men looked in the direction their ringleader pointed towards and their frightened eyes glazed over with determined resolve.

"Come on!" Sam shouted; a moment later he was running towards the laundry cart.

"Yeah!" the three men shouted in unison as they followed Sam.

Carl drew his Beretta 92FS pistol, thumbed the safety to the "off" position, and aimed the pistol high above the men's heads.

BANG!

The four men fell to onto their backsides like they were knocked down by a strong wind. Carl aimed the pistol at the startled men.

"Get out of here," Carl ordered coldly.

The four would-be thieves stood up and ran towards Cell Block D. Carl kept his pistol aimed at them until they were out of sight.

•••

Tyreese and John held the top of the heavy iron door while Eddie and Gregg held the bottom; Henry and Charlie stood nearby, with Henry directing the crew towards the flatbed trailer behind them.

"You know what?" John asked Tyreese as they stepped in unison onto the flatbed.

"What?" Tyreese asked.

"You make a better construction worker than a football player," John answered.

"That's what my father told me after I was cut from the Falcons," Tyreese said.

John looked wide-eyed at Tyreese, who grinned in return. John smiled and shook his head in amusement.

"Do you guys hear something?" Gregg asked as he and Eddie raised their end of the iron door onto the flatbed.

"Yeah," Charlie said as he looked back at the courtyard. "Someone's screaming."

"Whatever it is, Rick can handle it," John said confidently.

"Jesus H. Christ, all of a sudden you're a fan of Rick Grimes?" Gregg asked in disbelief.

"Hey, I'm just giving the man a chance. That's all I wanted from the Governor."

Tyreese and John moved along the flatbed slowly as they carried the top of the iron door; Eddie and Gregg stepped onto the flatbed as they carried iron door's bottom. After a few cautious steps, the four men stood with the iron door above the center of the flatbed. "Okay, put this fucker down carefully," John said.

The four men bent down in unison, gingerly placed the iron door onto the floor of the flatbed, and breathed a sigh of relief as they stood straight.

"What the hell is going on over there?" Charlie asked as he took a few steps toward the courtyard.

The construction crew looked at the courtyard, and saw dozens of people running towards Cell Block D. Donna was facing their direction, and a moment later they heard her voice shouting, "John! John!"

A chill ran through John's body just like it would when he sensed a V.C. ambush back in Vietnam. "Donna," he whispered.

A shot rang out.

"Walkers!" Alonso shouted fearfully.

John leapt off the flatbed trailer. "Donna!" he shouted as he began running towards the courtyard.

Henry looked over his shoulder at the construction crew. "The walkers overran the fence!" he shouted.

"Quick! Grab something heavy or sharp!" Eddie shouted as he leapt off the flatbed trailer and ran to the battered metal tool box; Henry, Charlie, and Gregg followed him and rummaged through the tool box for wrenches, hammers, and screwdrivers; Tyreese pulled his framing hammer from the holder attached to his belt, leapt off the flatbed trailer, and ran towards the courtyard.

•••

The herd was breaking up and staggering towards the Woodburians behind the fence, but a good number were still headed towards the prison squad car.

The closest walker to Rick was a female whose sundress was caked with blood and dirt. Rick thrust his machete into the female's face, and it exited out the back of its head. Rick put his left hand on the now dead walker's shoulder, pulled the machete out, and let go of its shoulder, and it crumbled to the field.

Two male walkers wearing bloodstained Atlanta Braves jerseys staggered towards Michonne; the smaller one ahead of the taller one. Michonne narrowed her eyes and swung her sharp katana.

SHUKK!

Michonne's blade cut across the first walker's head from above its jaw; the head flipped backwards and struck the second walker in the face; the second walker froze and blinked as if it were stung by the impact, and as the first walker's body fell to the ground, Michonne brought the katana back for a return swing.

SHLUKK!

The katana sliced through the second walker's temple and exited the other side; the top of the walker's head flew off its skull like it had been struck by a heavy breeze, and pieces of brain matter flew with it; the dead walker fell to its knees and then fell onto its right side. Michonne spun the katana in her hand so the blade was pointed down, and drove it into the decapitated skull of the first walker.

SHLUKK!

Glenn and Maggie glanced at each other as the herd staggered closer. "Here we go again, huh?" the young Korean asked his fiancée.

"Yeah, you need to find a new place to take me on our dates," Maggie smiled.

Glenn chuckled nervously at Maggie's joke and looked at the approaching, growling walkers. The closet one was a male who had lost a couple of fingers on his hands and had chunks of flesh bitten out of his shoulders and his chest.

Glenn swung his parang at the walker's head, but it raised its right arm to deflect the blow.

SVASSH!

The parang cut off the walker's right hand; it stopped and looked at the stump of its right arm in apparent disbelief. Glenn used the opportunity to swing the parang at the walker's head.

THROK!

The parang cut into the walker's temple, and Glenn wrenched the weapon out of the dead walker's skull and it fell onto the gravel road with a loud thud.

Maggie's breath started fogging up the visor on her helmet, but could see a young female walker in front of her with blood caked lips that looked like it had overdone her lipstick. The female walker growled and made a grab for the hatchet in Maggie's right hand. Maggie shrieked in fear as she and the female walker struggled over the weapon, but she kept her cool and kicked the female walker in the stomach, which sent it reeling backwards. Maggie raised the hatchet and brought it down on top of the female walker's head.

WHUKK!

The female walker shook as the impact from the axe blade traveled down its spine. Maggie pried the axe's blade free and the dead female walker fell onto the field.

•••

"Don't be afraid of it, Alicia! It's not human! It's not even alive!" Michael shouted encouragingly.

Alicia tightened her grip on the broomstick as the fat walker took one final step at her, and she thrust the sharp end of the broomstick at the walker's face.

SHUKK!

The sharp point of the broomstick went through the fat walker's right eye and exited out the back of its head. Alicia yelled as she pulled the broomstick out of the dead walker's eye socket, and its face fell against the chain link. Alicia watched coldly as the dead walker's weight began to pull it to the ground and it wound up in a sitting position against the chain link fence.

"You killed it, Alicia! You killed it!" Michael shouted enthusiastically as he pumped his fists into the air.

Alicia glared down at the dead, fat walker and said nothing.

•••

Rick swung the Gerber Gator Machete at a young male walker wearing a Star Wars T-shirt. The blade got struck in the crook of the walker's shoulder and the impact drove it to the ground, but Rick couldn't pry the blade free. The male walker grabbed the blade, rose slowly to its feet, and growled at Rick angrily.

Rick gave the blade a desperate pull, but the walker had a firm grip on it. Fear crept onto Rick's face as the walker growled at him angrily.

"Let go!" Michonne shouted.

Rick let go of the machete's handle without questioning the order, and stumbled backwards as Michonne stepped past him and thrust her katana at the male walker's face.

SHLUKK!

The tip of the katana pierced the male walker's right eye, and its growling stopped and its hands dropped from the machete's blade. Michonne withdrew her sword, and the dead walker fell backwards, knocking down a short, female walker that had stepped behind it; the two walkers fell onto the ground, and Michonne stepped forward, spun the katana in her hand so the bloody tip was pointed at the growling short female walker that was now lying underneath the dead male walker, and drove the blade into its left eye.

SHLUKK!

The female walker's mouth clamped shut like a steel trap, and Michonne pulled her katana free.

"Thank you," Rick said gratefully.

"Get the machete free, you'll need it," Michonne replied as she glared at the approaching walkers.

Rick shrugged his shoulders and ran forward to retrieve the machete; he pulled on the handle a few times until the blade came free and he stumbled backwards a second time until he regained his footing.

BLAM!

The gunshot echoed across the prison and the machete in Rick's hand suddenly felt heavy as a claymore. _Stay here and guard the guns and ammo,_ he told Carl earlier.

Rick spun around and looked uphill at the prison, but he couldn't see Carl from this angle. Rick looked up at the destroyed guard tower and saw Daryl and Carol looking in the direction of Cell Block D. "Daryl!" he shouted.

The group's hunter looked down at Rick.

"Car…Carl…" Rick stammered worriedly.

"He's fine!" Daryl shouted with his left hand cupped against his mouth. "He just stopped some assholes from stealin' the guns!"

"Did…did he…?"

"No, must've shot in the air!"

Rick lowered his head and sighed with relief that Carl was all right and he didn't kill anyone to guard the firearms.

"A little help, Rick?" Michonne asked curtly as she decapitated a limping walker.

Rick turned around, and remembered the walkers staggering towards the fence. He tightened his grip on the Gerber Gator Machete and returned to the fight.

•••

"Donna!" John shouted in relief as his frightened wife greeted him with open arms.

"John! Oh, John!" Donna cried as she threw her arms around her husband.

John and Donna embraced and he held her tighter than he had so many years ago when they were sweethearts and he got off the plane from Vietnam. "Thank God you're all right," he muttered into her shoulder.

"Floyd said walkers were coming out of the woods," Donna said after she and John separated.

"What about Rick and his people?" John asked.

"I don't know!" Donna answered.

"Where the fuck is Floyd?!"

"He ran into the cell block; most of our people went with him."

John looked around the courtyard, and his eyes stopped at the laundry cart filled with guns. Rick brought the guns out in case walkers appeared and overran the fence line; his son Carl was standing beside the cart with a gun in his hand and looking worriedly at the fence line.

"Stay here," John ordered Donna as he ran past her.

•••

Carl's heart was thumping in his chest as he saw more walkers staggered out of the tree line; he couldn't see his father or his group fighting them off, but he could hear the walkers' growling hungrily along with the sounds of blades cutting into skulls and the Woodburians shouting angrily at the top of their lungs. Carl looked up at the ruined watch tower on the courtyard and saw Daryl and Carol atop it; Daryl shot another arrow into the herd below, while Carol stood beside him, with a hunting rifle in her hands.

The sound of running footsteps arose in Carl's ears and he looked at the courtyard to see John Boyd running towards him. Carl almost raised his pistol at the old man, but suddenly remembered his father telling him, _"John and I worked out our differences. If he needs a firearm, let him take one."_

John slowed down his running as he approached Carl. "Save the bullets for the walkers, son," he advised.

Carl stepped aside as the Vietnam veteran stepped passed him and took an M4A1 rifle out of the laundry cart.

"My dad said you, Karen, and Sasha are the only ones outside the group that can take a gun," Carl said.

"Good. Because the rest of my group can't shoot for shit," John replied, as he ejected the 30 round magazine, checked that it was loaded, and returned it to the rifle's receiver. The M4A1 was a descendant of the M16, the assault rifle he carried in Vietnam. When John and Donna settled in Woodbury, he volunteered to join Merle's security team, but the Governor said they had enough people already. When John said he was a veteran, the Governor thanked him for his service, and suggested he go to his new apartment and catch up on his reading. Now, John looked at the rifle in his hands and grinned despite the dire situation.

John slung the M4A1 over his shoulder and peered inside the laundry cart for a spare magazine; he soon saw them in a plastic tub in a corner of the cart; he reached down, took a magazine, and tucked it in a rear pocket.

"Are you going to help my dad?" Carl asked suspiciously.

John unslung the M4A1 from his shoulder and looked at Carl. "You bet. He gave me a chance to really help my group, the least I can do is save his ass."

Carl found John's words encouraging and he smiled. John smiled back and he ran across the courtyard and downhill to the fence line.

•••

A tall, male walker with six bullet holes in its bare chest growled at Rick as it reached out to grasp him. Rick ducked and the walker's arms circled harmlessly above him. Rick thrust his machete at the walker's jaw as he stood up.

SHUKK!

The tip of the machete's blade tore through the bottom of the tall walker's jaw and shot up into its skull where it tore through its brain. The dead walker froze still, and when Rick pulled the machete free, it fell onto a small pile of dead walkers he and Michonne had put down.

"Hey, Rick! We're winning!" Glenn cheered with a thumb up in the air.

Rick looked to his left and his right as the Woodburians that stayed at the fence line thrust their homemade spears into the walkers' foreheads. Rick looked at Glenn again and he nodded in agreement.

Glenn grinned until he saw a heavyset female walker staggering towards him. Glenn swung the parang and the blow knocked the female walker to the ground. Glenn knelt down beside the prone walker and bludgeoned its head with the parang until its skull burst open and the brain was destroyed.

"Rick!" Daryl shouted from above.

Rick had just killed another walker when he heard Daryl's voice. He looked up at the ruined guard tower on the courtyard and saw Daryl pointing down at the gravel road. Rick looked and saw John Boyd running down the gravel road with an M4A1 rifle in his hands. "Oh, my God," Rick whispered in shock.

John stopped in front of the prison squad car and brought the M4A1 up to his shoulder. "Everybody get down!" he shouted as he took aim.

Glenn looked over his shoulder and saw John aiming a rifle at the walkers. "Uh oh," he muttered. A second later Glenn looked at Maggie and tackled her by her feet.

"Hey!" Maggie shouted as she fell to the ground.

"Stay down!" Glenn pleaded as he shielded his fiancée with his own body.

"No, don't shoot—!" Rick shouted before Michonne grabbed him by the arm and pulled him to the ground.

BRAKKA! BRAKKA! BRAKKA! BRAKKA! BRAKKA!

The first shots struck the leading row of walkers in their heads and they crumpled dead to the ground. As John continued firing, his aim worsened and most of the bullets hit the remaining walkers in their shoulders or chests, so they fell down, got back up, and continued staggering or crawling forward.

"Hold your fire! You'll just bring more walkers!" Rick shouted angrily as he tried to stand up, but Michonne pinned him down.

CLICK! CLICK! CLICK!

John ejected the empty magazine and reached for the spare magazine in his back pocket.

"Hold your fire!" Rick shouted as he struggled to throw Michonne off him.

John loaded the spare magazine into the M4A1's receiver, pulled back on the charging handle, brought the rifle up to his shoulder and took aim again.

"No!" Rick pleaded.

BRAKKA! BRAKKA! BRAKKA! BRAKKA! BRAKKA!

The bullets struck the last of the walkers in their heads and they fell dead to the ground. John lowered the M4A1, and looked satisfied at the carnage he wrought. A few moments later Glenn and Maggie sat up in the field. Michonne stood up, but Rick sprang up and glared at John while the Woodburians along the fence line looked at John in awe. Atop the ruined guard tower, Daryl and Carol watched like two ravens resting atop a tree after a battle between two Viking armies.


	7. Chapter 7

**CHAPTER 7**

The ringing from the gunfire began to fade away in Rick's ears as the few Woodburians that stayed at the fence line walked over to John and congratulated him for shooting down the last of the walkers.

"Dios Mío, that's how you do it!" Juan grinned as he patted John on the shoulder.

"Muchas gracias, John," Marianna smiled gratefully at the Vietnam veteran.

"Nice shooting, Davy Crockett," Michael grinned as he shook John's hand.

"It's about time somebody used some common sense around here!" Alicia cheered.

The statement broke the tension and the Woodburians began to cheer and applaud. John smiled, slung the M4A1 rifle over his shoulder, and resumed shaking hands.

Rick's hands balled into fists and he started walking towards John.

"Rick…" Michonne said as she grabbed his wrist.

Rick shook her grip free and continued walking. He leapt atop the hood of the prison's squad car, leapt down onto the other side of the fence line and stood in front of John. "Can I have a word with you alone please?" he asked curtly.

John blinked nervously and his complexion turned pale as Rick continued to glare at him. "S...sure," he stammered.

Rick started walking forward; John stepped out of his way, and so did the small crowd of Woodburians. Next, Rick began walking up the gravel road to the prison's courtyard, and John ran to catch up to him.

•••

Atop the destroyed guard tower, Daryl and Carol watched as Rick stomped up the gravel road with John trailing behind him. "Looks like those two are gonna throw down," Daryl said as he slung his Stryker Strykezone 380 crossbow over his shoulder.

"You really think they're going to fight?" Carol asked Daryl as she lowered the Remington 700 bolt action rifle to her side.

"They might as well get it over with," Daryl answered as he looked at Carol, "can't have two alpha males in the same pack. You remember what happened between Rick and Shane?"

Carol looked down at her boots as she remembered the tension between the group's original leader and his best friend and partner in law enforcement. From the day Rick joined the group at the quarry outside Atlanta—and reunited with his family, Lori and Carl—he and Shane disagreed on what was best for the group. Their disagreements led to arguments, especially after Carol's daughter Sophia was lost in the woods, and Shane wanted to continue on to Ft. Benning, while Rick wanted to continue searching for the young girl. Carl was shot in a hunting accident, and that led to the group meeting the Greene family and moving onto their farm. Hershel performed emergency surgery on Carl and saved the young boy's life, but Sophia needed to be found. Daryl almost died looking for her, and as he healed, Carol's hopes for finding her daughter grew dimmer.

Days after Daryl was back on his feet, Glenn reluctantly told the group about the walkers Hershel collected inside his barn, and Shane broke them out, and the group gunned them down as they staggered out…with the last one being Sophia herself.

After Sophia's death, Carol withdrew from the group—with Daryl being the lone exception—but she saw Rick and Shane's friendship continue to deteriorate. It finally came to a head over Randall, a young man who tried to kill Rick, and who was part of a larger, violent group. Shane led Randall into the woods, killed him, and then returned to the farm with a self-inflicted broken nose and claiming Randall had escaped. The group armed themselves and searched the woods in pairs, with Shane insisting Rick stay with him.

Night fell soon after, followed by a gunshot, and a herd of walkers staggering onto the farm minutes later. That morning the scattered group reunited on the spot on the highway where they lost Sophia, and continued on until they nearly ran out of gas. After they set up camp, several people—Carol included—talked openly of splitting up; that's when an enraged Rick revealed that Shane lied about Randall escaping, and had led him into a field so he could kill him, but he turned the tables on Shane and stabbed his best friend to death.

But there was more than disagreements on survival and planning between Rick and Shane: Lori and Shane had begun a secret relationship at the quarry. When Rick returned, Lori put an immediate end to what had really been an affair, but Shane couldn't let go of Lori…or the unborn child that was growing inside her womb.

"Yes, I remember," Carol answered as she looked at Daryl. "I know Shane made some mistakes, but he was right about some things, like going straight to Ft. Benning, putting down the walkers in the barn, and executing Randall."

Daryl tilted his head. "Are you serious?"

"You mean about putting down the walkers in the barn? Yes, I am serious."

Daryl shook his head slightly. "Sophia…"

"That wasn't my little girl. I told you that, Daryl."

Daryl grimaced as he remembered the aftermath of the barn massacre: finding Carol inside Hershel's RV, sitting at the table and staring out the window; he sat on the counter and kept her company. Minutes later Lori stepped inside the RV.

"They're ready. Come on," Lori said, meaning the funeral for Sophia and the dead members of the Greene family was about to start.

Carol looked down at the table. "Why?" she asked.

"'Cause that's your little girl," Daryl answered.

Carol looked up at Daryl. "That's not my little girl. That's some other thing." Carol looked out the window again and said, "My Sophia was alone in the woods. All this time I thought…She didn't cry herself to sleep. She didn't go hungry. She didn't try to find her way back. Sophia died a long time ago."

Lori stepped out of the RV, and a moment later so did Daryl, who was angry at Carol for being cold hearted towards the memory of dead daughter, and angry at himself for nearly getting killed searching for a little girl who was already dead, but for giving a damn about her and her distraught mother in the first place.

But Daryl's anger towards Carol faded with time. And now, after putting down his big brother Merle after the Governor killed him and left him to turn into a walker, Daryl realized what Carol had meant in the RV: their loved ones were dead, and what came back were monsters.

"You know somethin'?" Daryl asked Carol. "You're right."

Carol raised her eyebrows whimsically. "Really?"

"Yeah. Sophia. Merle. They're gone. And I'd rather Merle's corpse rest six feet under instead of it walkin' around and eatin' God knows who."

Carol looked at the horizon and considered Daryl's statement for a few moments. "I understand," she said when she looked at him again. "I prayed so hard that we'd find Sophia, but when she came out of that barn..." A tear ran down Carol's cheek and she wiped it away with her hand. "Shane did the right thing. Rick never would've convinced Hershel to let us clear out that barn. We would've moved on and Sophia would still be in that barn today."

Daryl nodded in agreement, and Carol slung the Remington 700 over her shoulder and walked over to the trap door in the center of the floor; she knelt down and reached for the trap door's chain.

"Wait!" Daryl pleaded.

Carol pulled her hand back, looked up at Daryl, and saw the desperate look on his face. "What's wrong?" Carol asked Daryl as she stood up.

"I need to tell you somethin'," Daryl answered as he walked over to Carol.

"What's that?" Carol asked as she adjusted the hunting rifle's weight on her shoulder.

Daryl stood across from Carol and stared at her blue eyes, her pale skin, the worried expression on her beautiful face, and how a light breeze rustled across her short, grey hair. For a few moments, he forgot what he was going to say to her.

"I'm sorry," Daryl said finally.

Carol blinked. "What?" she asked.

"I'm sorry about Sophia," Daryl explained. "I should've said that after the barn, but I didn't because I was pissed off at what you said and pissed off at myself for failin' to find her."

Carol didn't reply, but a small smile appeared on her face.

"A few days ago when were at the feed mill to get Merle, you said you were sorry, but I barely noticed you gave a damn," Daryl continued as he rubbed the back of his neck embarrassingly. "So…I'm…sorry too for bein' a jackass."

Carol smile grew broader and she walked around the trap door, put her hand on the back of Daryl's head, pulled him down, and kissed his forehead. Carol let go and Daryl blushed as he stood straight.

"Thank you," Carol said warmly.

Carol knelt down, opened the trap door and walked down the winding staircase. Daryl's trembling hand touched the spot on his forehead where Carol kissed him and he remembered last year when she kissed him on the temple as he lay in bed after he was injured during his search for Sophia. _She kissed me again,_ Daryl thought.

•••

Rick reached the courtyard and placed his right hand on the walnut grip of his Colt Python revolver as he waited for John to catch up to him.

"Dad!" Carl shouted cheerfully as he waved his hands to get his father's attention.

Rick's heart skipped a beat at the sound of Carl's voice, and he looked over at Cell Block C and saw Carl standing beside the laundry cart filled with guns, just like he told him too. Rick smiled and raised a hand to acknowledge his son's cheering.

"Is there a problem, Rick?" a voice asked.

Rick looked to his left and saw John standing beside him, with the M4A1 rifle slung over his shoulder. Rick faced the Vietnam veteran and glared at him. "Yeah, you're damn right there's a—"

"John! John are you all right?!" a woman asked worriedly.

Rick now looked to his right and saw Donna running over to him and John. Behind Donna was Henry and construction crew, and they held in their hands hammers, screwdrivers, and wrenches. Rick took a step back and Donna ran past him and embraced her husband.

"I'm fine, hon," John grinned as he wrapped his arms around his wife and returned the embrace.

"What happened down there?" Henry asked as he gestured towards the gate.

John let go of Donna and she stood by his left side. "Oh, you might say the walkers got themselves a taste of…," and John paused for a moment to unsling the M4A1 rifle from his shoulder and held it up in the air, "good old made in the U.S.A. firepower!"

Tyreese looked downhill at the dozens of dead walkers lying sprawled in the field and he shook his head in dismay. Henry and the rest of the construction crew, however, applauded and walked past Rick to surround John and Donna and pat her husband on his back.

"Good job, buddy!" Gregg cheered.

"Next time, save some for the rest of us," Alonso grinned.

John laughed. "I'll try, but no promises."

Rick shook his head in disgust; he pushed his way through the construction crew and snatched the rifle by its handguard.

"Hey, what the hell…?" John asked startled.

"John and I need to talk," Rick spat as he looked at the construction crew.

"Go right ahead," Henry said.

"Alone!" Rick replied curtly.

The construction crew looked at Henry and Henry looked at John, who nodded in approval. "Yeah, no problem," Henry muttered as he walked back to the motor pool; the construction crew following behind him.

"I'd…I'd like to see about the baby. That is if you don't mind," Donna asked Rick.

Rick's features softened. "Not at all. Thank you, Donna," he answered.

Donna smiled at Rick, then she stood on her toes, gave John a kiss on his cheek, and she walked towards the side door of Cell Block C. John blushed and rubbed the spot on his cheek where Donna kissed him like he brushed against poison ivy.

"What the hell were you thinking?" Rick asked John angrily.

John's hand dropped to his side and he looked at Rick. "What?" he asked.

"Shooting this rifle!" Rick said as he shook the weapon for emphasis. "What the hell were you thinking?!"

John put his hands on his hips and looked at Rick like he was looking at an unruly trainee at the factory he worked in after Vietnam. "I thought I was saving your life!" he answered angrily.

"I had it under control!"

"Bullshit! You, Michonne, and those two kids were standing outside the fences with your pig stickers against a goddamn herd!"

"I said I had it under control!" Rick repeated. "I've lost count of the times I've been in situations like that! What about you, John?"

John glared at Rick. "I served my country, you son of a bitch."

"Right, you've told me that many times before," Rick nodded. "But this isn't Vietnam and those aren't the Viet Cong, they're walkers. They don't use guns. They don't stop. They don't rest. They can't be negotiated with; all they do is feed on the living!"

"And that's why I took that rifle and blew those rotting corpses away!" John argued.

"The guns were supposed to be a last resort! The sound of that gunfire was probably heard for miles! Another herd could be on us any minute! Or what a group led by someone like the Governor? Do you want your people to remember you as the man who brought a war to their doorstep?"

John looked towards Cell Block D, shifted his posture, and huffed. "If anyone or anything comes this way, we'll just go over to that laundry cart, take out the guns, and fill them full of lead!"

"That's your plan?" Rick asked.

"It's a better plan that hiding behind these fences and poking those walkers with a sharpened stick!"

"Take another look at where we are, John!" Rick ordered as he pointed to his right. "That's a prison, not a bullet factory! We've got to conserve the ammunition we have left! Why do you think Glenn, Maggie, and Tyreese went into the tombs and got the guns the Governor's army dropped?"

John opened his mouth to answer, but no words came out.

"Listen very carefully," Rick ordered as he tapped John's chest with the rifle's muzzle. "I'm in charge of this prison. What I say is law. If you disagree with that, you can pack your things, take a car, drive down that road, and find a life for yourself somewhere in the wilderness."

John's eyes narrowed and his hands balled up into fists. "I'm not leaving Donna, and I'm not leaving my people."

Rick glared back unafraid. "Your wife, your people—most of them anyway—wouldn't last a day out there."

The two men continued to glare silently at each other for a long time, until John finally blinked. "Okay, Rick. You want to be the new Governor….consider this election day."

Rick poked John's chest with the rifle's muzzle one last time. "Don't ever call me by that title again," he said coldly.

John blinked, and he moved his jaw, but he said nothing. Rick stomped towards Cell Block D, and John watched him stomp away.

•••

"Dad!" Carl cheered as he ran forward and wrapped his arms around his father's waist.

Rick's anger towards John vanished the instant Carl hugged him and he returned the hug with his left hand while he held onto the M4A1 with his right. "Carl," he said wearily.

"Are you all right?" Carl asked as he looked up at his father. "I saw a herd come out of the woods."

"I'm fine, son," Rick answered. "So are Michonne, Glenn, and Maggie."

Carl let go of his father and took a step to the left to look across the courtyard at John, who was still glaring at them. "John took one of the guns. You said I should give him one. I heard a lot of shooting. He killed all the walkers didn't he?"

Rick remembered being pinned to the ground by Michonne as John opened fire on the remnants of the herd like it was target practice. Now, Rick started worrying again if a herd or a group of killers had heard the shooting and were coming this way. "Yes, Carl. John did kill them," he said.

"You said John could take a gun," Carl reminded his father nervously.

"I know, Carl," Rick nodded. "You did the right thing."

Instead of smiling because he won his father's approval, Carl lowered his head in shame. "That Sam and some other guys wanted to take the guns," he muttered with the Stetson hat blocking his face. "I…I fired a shot over their heads."

Rick placed the M4A1's stock on the ground and knelt down in front of Carl. "Yeah, I heard the shot," he said quietly.

Carl kept his head down and Rick heard his son start to cry. "I'm sorry, Dad. I was just trying to stop them. I didn't want to really shoot anybody. Please don't be mad."

"Hey, Carl. Carl," Rick said softly as he put his hand under his son's chin and pushed it up gently so he could see his son's face. "I'm not mad."

Carl sniffled and looked at his father.

"I asked you to guard the guns and ammo, and you did exactly that. Nobody was hurt, just a couple of adults who got scared and ran inside."

Carl rubbed the tears off his face and smiled at his father.

Rick stood up and took a step back as he held the M4A1 rifle in his hands. "Do you remember the steps to cleaning an automatic rifle?" he asked Carl.

Carl stuck his hands into his pockets and kicked at the ground. "Uh…no," he admitted.

"Well, this one needs to be cleaned," Rick said as he examined the weapon. "How about after dinner you can show me what you remember, and I'll help fill in the blanks?"

"Sure," Carl smiled.

"Fine," Rick said as he leaned the rifle against the staircase to Cell Block C. "I've got to talk to somebody. Keep up the good work, all right?

"All right!" Carl smiled as he took his hands out of his pockets and stood straight.

•••

Rick walked alongside Cell Block C when he heard Judith crying. He stopped in his tracks and turned to his left and saw Donna stepping through the doorway with Judith in her arms. "I'm sorry," Donna laughed embarrassingly, "this is the first time I've held her."

Rick smiled. "It's okay. She'll get used to you."

Beth stepped out of the cellblock next, followed by Sasha, who was wielding the same Mossberg 500 shotgun from when Michonne returned yesterday. After the women stepped out onto the courtyard, Hershel hobbled out of the cellblock on his crutches.

"Rick, we heard gunfire," Hershel said worriedly.

Rick raised a hand to signal a pause. "It's all right, Hershel. John panicked and gunned down the last of the walkers."

Hershel looked out at the fence line and the long, gray road beyond it that stretched out into the horizon. "But…another herd…another group…"

"Nothing's shown up so far, so let's hope it stays that way," Rick said.

Judith continued to cry in Donna's arms as the old woman turned around and looked at Hershel. "I'm sorry. John was just trying to help. The Governor never game him a chance when we lived in Woodbury."

Hershel nodded comfortingly. "I understand, Donna. Everyone's all right, and that's what's important."

Rick looked at Cell Block D with its iron door closed, and thought about Floyd and the dozens of Woodburians who deserted the fence line and hid inside their cell block as the walkers attacked. Rick realized that Sasha had been inside Cell Block C, protecting Judith, Beth, and Hershel instead of her own people. He turned towards the young black woman, and noticed she was pointing the shotgun's barrel at the ground and had her finger resting alongside the trigger guard. _Good trigger discipline,_ Rick thought. _Most of the Woodburians aren't worth much, but she learns quickly._

"Sasha," Rick said.

"Yeah?" Sasha asked nervously.

"Why aren't you in Cell Block C, with your group?"

Sasha looked past Rick at the motor pool; the Dodge Ram 1500 truck was moving forward slowly as it towed the flatbed trailer behind it, and it turned the corner and disappeared behind the motor pool. In a little while, Tyreese and the construction crew would take the second iron door down from its hinges and they'd use it and the other door they'd taken down as the new gate.

"My brother's over there, Rick, trying to build a gate that will protect all of us. If those walkers got past you, my people would never have let me outside to save him."

 _Family's important to her, and she's brave,_ Rick thought, _I wish I hadn't lost it and chased her and her brother out of the prison when I first met them._

"I understand," Rick nodded. A moment later he began walking towards Cell Block D.

"You can't blame them for being afraid, Rick," Hershel said sternly as he watched Rick getting closer to the Woodburians' cell block.

Rick didn't respond to Hershel's statement and he continued walking towards the cell block.

"Rick!" Donna called out worriedly, as Judith continued to cry in her arms.

Rick ignored Donna's plea too and walked up the cell block's staircase. His police instincts kicked in and his thumb brushed the strap off his holster and his hand wrapped around the walnut handle of his Colt Python revolver.

Rick stood on the staircase's concrete landing. He had given John a set of prison keys to lock the cell block at night, so he knew the iron door was unlocked. But Rick also knew that John wasn't carrying his Colt M1911A1 pistol today, and it was a possibility that Floyd or another Woodburian was aiming it at the iron door.

"Sasha!" Rick called out as he looked back at the young black woman, "get Hershel and the others inside the cell block!"

Sasha nodded and began to gently move Hershel, Beth, and Donna into Cell Block C. "Okay, come on, everybody. Get back inside," she whispered urgently.

Judith seemed to sense the anger in Rick's voice and the tension in Donna's arms and she started crying louder and flaying her tiny limbs.

"Rick, don't do anything foolish!" Hershel ordered as he hobbled inside Cell Block C.

Rick waited for Sasha and the others to get inside Cell Block C before he drew his Colt Python revolver from its holster. The gun's weight felt odd to Rick and he suddenly realized that he hadn't held it since that night in Woodbury, when he gave it to a dying Andrea so she could commit suicide; he still hadn't removed the spent case from the cylinder.

Rick shook his head to brush away the unpleasant memory of Andrea's death. He balled his left hand into a fist and pounded on the iron door.

BAM! BAM!

"Floyd! This is Rick! I'm opening the door!"

Rick counted to ten so Floyd would have time to process his announcement, then his left hand wrapped around the door handle and he used the door as a shield as it slid open across the doorway track.

BLAM!

A bullet shot of the common room and flew past Rick, who dropped down to one knee and pressed his back against the iron door. "Hold your fire!" Rick ordered.

Far behind Rick, Sasha stepped out the side door of Cell Block C with the Mossberg 500 shotgun in her hands, while Carl peeked around the corner, with his Beretta 92FS pistol drawn.

"Rick!" Sasha cried.

"Dad!" Carl cried.

"You two stay back!" Rick ordered.

Sasha looked over her shoulder at Carl, who nodded reluctantly. Sasha went back into Cell Block C, and bumped into Beth, who was trying to step outside. Carl looked at his father worriedly, and stepped behind Cell Block C.

With Carl and Sasha out of the line of fire, Rick stood up, put both hands on the handle of his revolver, and inched himself closer to the partially open doorway. "Floyd!" he shouted.

A few moments later, a scared voice asked "Rick?! Is that you?!"

"Who the hell else would it be?!" Rick answered angrily.

More silence followed, until Floyd finally said, "I…I thought you got overrun by the walkers!"

Rick snorted contemptuously. "Drop that gun and put your hands up! I'm coming in!"

"Okay!" Floyd said. An instant later a clanking sound was heard.

Rick aimed his gun inside the cell block's vestibule and peeked inside slowly; it was clear. Rick stepped inside and saw a Colt M1911A1 pistol lying on the common room's floor and behind it stood a pair of feet. Rick walked towards the common room's doorway, put his back against it, and a moment later aimed his gun inside the common room and peered inside.

Floyd stood in the center of the common room with a frightened look on his face and his hands above his face. Sam wasn't in the room, but the other Woodburians were huddled together like they did yesterday when they thought the Governor returned.

"Step away from the gun," Rick ordered as he pointed his service revolver at Floyd.

Floyd nodded quickly and took four steps away from the pistol. Rick lowered the Colt Python to his side, walked down the common room's staircase, and glared at Floyd as he walked towards him.

"I'm sorry, Rick! You've got to believe me, man, I'm so sorry!" Floyd cried nervously.

Rick grabbed Floyd by the collar of his jacket and growled angrily as he shoved him to the left. Floyd's back hit the wall hard, his heavy framed glasses fell to the floor and he cried out in pain.

"You left me at the fence to die!" Rick shouted as he pressed his forearm against Floyd's throat. "You got half of your people to follow you and hide in this cell block!"

The Woodburians in the common room gasped and watched fearfully as Rick manhandled Floyd.

"I was scared! Floyd pleaded. "I was—"

Rick shoved the barrel of the Colt Python against Floyd's cheek. "You left my people at the fence to die! The people who help keep you safe! "

Floyd shut his eyes and tears seeped out from between his eyelids. "I'm sorry, Rick!"

"And then you shot at me!"

"I'm sorry!"

"Shut up!" Rick ordered.

Floyd shut his mouth and whimpered as the tears kept running down his face.

"Nod if you're listening to me!"

Floyd nodded several times.

"If you were twenty years younger, Floyd, I'd break your jaw! If you ever fuck up again I swear I'll do worse than that!"

Floyd's lips started trembling and he nodded several times again to show that he understood Rick's threat. Rick took his forearm away from Floyd's throat and the older man fell to the floor and started sobbing.

Rick turned around and glared at the shocked Woodburians. "Where's the other coward?" he asked angrily.

A woman pointed a trembling hand at the cellblock doorway. Rick holstered his Colt Python, walked over to the pistol lying on the floor, picked it up, and walked into the cell block. When Rick left the common room, the Woodburians ran over to Floyd and they all muttered to the crying man if he was all right.

•••

Rick heard a man weeping in one of the cells on the second tier, so he tucked the pistol against the small of his back, walked up the staircase, walked along the second tier, and found Sam sitting on the bottom bunk of his cell with his head in his hands. Sam sensed that someone was standing in the cell doorway, and looked up to see a furious Rick glaring down at him.

"Rick…your son...nearly killed me," Sam said weakly as he wiped the tears away from his eyes.

Rick grimaced contemptuously, and a moment later swung a fist at Sam.

POW!

The punch connected with Sam's jaw and he fell onto the cell floor.

"Hey! What the fuck is wrong with you?!" Sam cried as he sat up, rubbing his jaw.

"Shut up," Rick ordered as he stepped inside the cell.

Sam stopped rubbing his jaw, and looked wide-eyed at Rick.

"You abandoned the fence line, Sam. Worse than that, you and your friends tried to steal the guns I brought outside. My son's guarding those guns. What were you going to do to my son, Sam, were you going to kill him?"

"No," Sam answered as he shook his head wildly. "I wasn't going to do any—"

Rick swung his fist at Sam again.

POW!

Rick's punch struck Sam's cheek and he fell back onto the cell floor again. Sam groaned painfully as Rick waited for him to sit up again.

"Listen, Sam. This prison is safe, but its safety is teetering over a pit; all it takes are assholes like you to shove it over the edge. When you try to deal with walkers when you have no clue as to how to go about it, you put everyone's lives at risk…you put my children's lives at risk. If you try that again…I'll kill you."

Sam looked wide-eyed at Rick and nodded slowly. Rick walked out of the cell and left Sam to tend to the bruises on his face and change his wet pants.

•••

The evening had grown chilly as Rick walked across the courtyard with his jacket buttoned up to his throat and his hands in the jacket's pockets. _Cold mornings, mild afternoons, and cold evenings; the fall has definitely arrived,_ Rick thought. _We've got to get as much of the prison rebuilt as quickly as we can before it gets too cold to work outdoors._

Rick stopped at the edge of the courtyard and looked downhill at the new gate: the former iron doors to the motor pool were posted along the dirt road and placed ten yards from the fence line. A system of ropes and pulleys operated the doors, and their flanks were protected by a barbed wire fence; it was meant to be a temporary measure until the cheval de frise Hershel talked about were carved.

Beyond the new gate were the dozens of dead walkers the group had earlier. When Henry and the construction crew drove the Dodge Ram 1500 down to the fence line with the iron doors loaded onto the flatbed trailer, Rick and the group dragged the dead out of the way so the construction crew could get to work. When the new gate was put up, everyone was too tired to celebrate, let alone gather up the dead onto the trailer and take them to an open field for burning; that would have to wait until after the supply run.

Glenn and Maggie were on guard duty tonight and they were standing in the field, both of them had a bucket slung underneath their arms andthey were taking rocks from the buckets and arranging them in a small circular pile; apparently the new gate had given the young couple the confidence to build a campfire the way the group used to build them at the quarry or when they were on the road.

"Hi, Rick!" Glenn said happily as he waved at the group's leader. Maggie looked up the hill, tucked a rock under her arm and waved too. Rick took hand out of his jacket pocket and waved at the young couple, who went back to work preparing their campfire.

"That gate is a sight to behold," a voice said behind Rick.

Rick turned around and saw Hershel, wearing his black jacket, and hobbling forward on his crutches. "Yeah," Rick agreed as he looked back at the gate. "It took a lot of work but it was worth it."

"I think it took a little bit of something else," Hershel said as he hobbled alongside Rick.

"Let me guess: faith," Rick said with an eyebrow raised as he looked at Hershel.

"Exactly," Hershel said with a warm smile.

Rick looked down at the gate and shrugged. "Well, let's just say one man's bit of good luck is another man's faith in God and leave it at that."

Hershel patted Rick's shoulder. "If you say so, Rick."

The two men stood side-by-side in silence for a few moments until Rick asked, "I'm sure you've heard about my argument with John?"

"I have, along with your handling of Floyd and Sam," Hershel answered.

"Do you think I handled them the wrong way?"

Hershel looked up at the reddening sky. "John firing that rifle could've brought all sorts of trouble here. Floyd abandoning the fence line nearly started a retreat that put you, Maggie, and everyone else who stayed to fight the walkers at risk. Sam tried to take the guns Carl was guarding. Floyd fired a shot at you. I certainly understand your anger at the three of them, but I think your anger got the better of your judgement."

"I was afraid you'd say something like that," Rick said as he looked down at his boots. A moment later the sheriff's deputy raised his head and sighed wearily. "I'm not winning those people over. I thought I did when John and I put our differences aside, but I'm back to where I started."

"You'll win them over. You did with me, remember?" Hershel smiled.

Rick smiled at Hershel in appreciation, but a moment later as he looked at the new gate he ran a hand through his hair and sighed wearily again. "I'm so tired of this: being the leader. Now our numbers have doubled and so have our problems."

"Bringing those people from Woodbury back was the right decision," Hershel reminded Rick.

"I know," Rick said wearily.

"You don't have to do this alone. You have Daryl. You have Glenn."

"Michonne told me nearly the same thing."

"Oh really?" Hershel asked with mild amusement.

Rick nodded. "She said I've got Carl and Judith to worry about, and she asked how long I thought I can keep going."

"Well…she's right on both counts."

Rick took his hand out of jacket pocket and rubbed his jaw in thought. _Are Hershel and Michonne right? Isn't it time I let Daryl and Glenn handle some of the leadership? They've both proven themselves, and I've got to make time for Carl and Judith._

A minute later, Rick lowered his hand and shook his head. "No," he answered. "Not until this prison is rebuilt. After we've gotten the watchtowers rebuilt, and brought in some food to last us a few weeks, then I'll take some time off."

Hershel nodded in understanding. "All right, Rick. So is the supply run still scheduled for tomorrow?"

"It is. I'll announce the names of the group members I've chosen for the supply run after dinner. I'll tell you now that Maggie and Glenn aren't going; after they went into the tombs to gather up those guns the Governor's army dropped, I have no right to ask them to risk their lives so soon."

Hershel looked downhill and watched as his oldest daughter and the young Korean man she loved sit down in the field and wait for the sun to set so they could light the campfire. "I know Maggie and Glenn can take care of themselves, but…thank you for that decision, Rick."

Rick smiled and patted Hershel on the shoulder.

"So have you decided where we're going to find some food?" Hershel asked.

"You'll probably say a prayer for my soul if I told you," Rick quipped.

"I say a prayer every day for **all** our souls," Hershel corrected the sheriff's deputy. "So where are you taking the group?"

Rick turned to the right to face Hershel. "It's been a year since the Turn; the supermarkets have been cleared out, hospitals too, so I've been thinking outside the box."

"And what are you thinking, Rick?" Hershel asked.

"I think our best bet…is just that; a bet."

Hershel blinked. "Excuse me?"

"I'm taking the group to the casino that opened outside Atlanta a few weeks before the Turn happened…The El Dorado."


	8. Chapter 8

**CHAPTER 8**

The side door to Cell Block C opened and Rick stepped inside the common room. With the exceptions of Glenn and Maggie, the whole prison group was present; they looked up from their bowls of hot oatmeal, and Rick nodded as he shut the door behind him.

Carl sat a table with his baby sister Judith in his arms. Also seated around the table were Hershel, and his youngest daughter, Beth. "How are Maggie and Glenn?" the old farmer asked.

"Glenn's got his arm around Maggie's shoulders and they're staring up at the stars," Rick answered with a grin.

"Eww," Carl said as he made a disgusted face.

"I think that's sweet," Beth said cheerfully.

"No way," Carl answered as he shook his head.

"You won't say that when you get older," Beth teased.

Carl looked at Beth, blushed, and pulled the brim of his worn Stetson hat down on his face.

Rick walked towards Carl, took the Stetson off his son's head, and placed it on the empty chair at the table. Carl looked up at his father. "Judith," he said as he gestured with his hands.

Carl slipped his hands underneath Judith's arms and lifted her up partially. Rick bent down, put his hands on his baby daughter's sides, waited until Carl let go of her, and he brought her to his chest and stood tall.

"Has she eaten yet?" Rick asked Carl as he adjusted his hold on Judith.

"Yeah," Carl nodded as he brought a spoonful of oatmeal to his mouth, and swallowed it reluctantly, "she loves oatmeal."

Judith cooed and Rick smiled. But then he remembered what Hershel told him about Judith after he rescued Glenn and Maggie from the Governor: _"Eats like a horse, sleeps like a rock."_

Rick knew that description neither fit him or Lori, and it was early confirmation that Judith wasn't his daughter, but was instead the daughter of his best friend and partner in law enforcement…Shane Walsh.

Rick shook his head and looked around the common room at the rest of his group: Daryl and Carol were seated across from each other at nearby table, picking at their separate bowls of oatmeal. Michonne ate alone, with her katana lying across the table.

"Daryl. Carol. How are you both doing tonight?" Rick asked.

Daryl scooped up a spoonful of oatmeal, swallowed it with much effort, and gave Rick a thumps-up.

"I'm fine," Carol answered unenthusiastically, as she stirred her spoon in the bowl of oatmeal.

Rick looked at Michonne. "How are you doing, Michonne?" he asked.

Michonne swallowed her oatmeal, placed her spoon down on the table, wiped her lips with a napkin and answered, "Well, Rick, this is my second dinner back at this prison…and if have another like it, I'm going to pack up and leave."

Michonne's comment stirred up a light chorus of laughter amongst the group, even Daryl snorted in amusement.

"Okay, I can see that we're all in agreement that the menu needs to be changed," Rick smiled as he bounced Judith lightly in his arms, "so now is as good a time as any to tell everyone who I'd like to take on the supply run."

Carl's eyes lit up like a Christmas tree and watched as he father walked into the center of the common room.

"Michonne, you told me this morning that you'd volunteer to go on the supply run. You haven't changed your mind, have you?"

"You asked me if I was sure, Rick. I was sure then, and I'm sure now," Michonne answered.

Rick nodded and looked at Daryl. "Daryl, we're going to need a scout. Will you help us out?"

Daryl gave Rick an enthusiastic thumbs-up. Rick nodded in appreciation.

Rick next looked at Carol. "Carol, I've heard you were good in that gunfight at the feed mill, but I think it'd be best if you helped guard the prison. I hope you understand."

Carol remembered when she and Daryl recently drove to the feed mill to bring Merle's body back for burial here at the prison; there were walkers in the field, so she and Daryl shot them down, but the gunfire attracted the attention of a Latino gang. Carol and Daryl succeeded in killing all eight gang members and retrieved Merle's body just as a herd of walkers staggered out of the woods, and they escaped in one of the gang's Jeep Cherokee's as the herd feasted on the gang's bullet riddled bodies.

Carol looked over at Daryl, her eyes pleading for him to give his opinion. Daryl nodded solemnly, and Carol looked at Rick again. "I understand, Rick," she answered regretfully.

Rick nodded and looked at the table where Carl, Hershel and Beth sat. "Hershel, I told Maggie and Glenn that they're not going on this run."

Hershel nodded in appreciation. "Thank you, Rick."

"Carl, what about you?" Rick asked his son.

Carl blinked at his father. "Wha-what do you mean, Dad?" he stammered.

"Do you want to help me on this supply run?"

Carl's eyes widened and he leapt out of his chair. "Really?!" he asked.

Rick chuckled at Carl's enthusiasm. "Really," he answered.

"Yeah!" Carl shouted as took his Stetson hat and tossed it up into the air. Carl watched as the Stetson tumbled in the air and as it fell towards the ground, he caught it with both hands and put it back on his head.

Hershel watched worriedly as Carl celebrated; the old farmer cleared his throat and looked at Rick. "Rick, are you sure that's a good idea?"

Rick shrugged and walked towards Hershel's table. "Well, I have my doubts too, Hershel. But Carl **has** earned the chance to help on this supply run. Besides, I can't hide him from what's beyond those fences. He can't be afraid of it. He has to be prepared for it."

"I understand, Rick. But with this being our first supply run in days—"

"Carl and I talked about this a few days ago, and he agreed to stay close to me and do exactly what I tell him. Right, Carl?" Rick interrupted as he handed Judith to his son.

"Right, Dad!" Carl said happily as he sat down with Judith in his arms.

Hershel shook his head. "Rick—"

Rick put a hand on Hershel's shoulder, and the old farmer fell silent. "I hear what you're saying, Hershel, and I appreciate it," the prison group's leader said as he bent down to look the old farmer in the eyes, "I've run the pros and cons in my mind and I'm still worried about Carl going on this run. But he's proven himself, and like I said, I can't keep hide him from what's beyond those fences."

Hershel looked at Rick, and nodded his head in defeat.

Rick patted Hershel's shoulder, stood up, and faced the prison group. "I'm going to talk with John Boyd and see if I can get some of his people to go on this run."

"Do you have anyone in mind, Rick?" Michonne asked as she stood up from her chair.

Rick ran a hand through his hair and sighed as he thought about his options. "Sasha and Eddie are my first two choices."

Michonne shook her head. "I've heard Sasha's a good shot, and Eddie is a carpenter. They should both stay at the prison."

Rick considered Michonne's statement and he finally nodded. "All right. I'll talk with John, and see if he can come up with some names."

Rick walked towards the side door, opened it, and stood profile so he could watch a smiling Carl bounce Judith on his knee. _Please, God,_ _let everything go all right tomorrow,_ he thought as he stepped onto the courtyard and closed the door behind him.

•••

Rick walked up the staircase to Cell Block D and knocked three times on the iron door. He stepped back, stood profile and looked at the new gate in the distance. A minute later Rick heard the iron door unlock, and he faced the doorway as the iron door slid open. John stood in front of him, with the vestibule lit up by the one lightbulb set in the ceiling.

"Evening, officer. Are there some walkers along the fence you want me to shake my fist at?"

Rick adjusted his posture and sighed wearily. "John, does it have to be this way between us?"

John leaned against the doorway and picked at his fingernails as if he were deep in thought. A few moments later he looked at Rick and answered, "I'm afraid so. Maybe we should see other people."

The palm of Rick's left hand his the other side of the doorframe, but it was sudden enough to make John stand up straight.

"Damnit, John! You just don't get it, do you?" Rick asked.

"What's that, Rick?"

"That this prison is never going to work if you and I argue constantly!"

John glared at Rick. "Okay, so do you have an idea on how to fix that?"

"I just might."

John blinked. "What do you mean?"

"I could use your advice."

John stood a bit taller and he smiled. "Okay. Shoot."

"I'm putting together a group for the supply run. I could use some of your people; any suggestions?"

"Are you serious?" John asked.

Rick nodded.

"I'll bet you a pack of Lucky Strikes that you don't want Floyd and Sam to go along on this shopping spree."

"I don't bet, and I don't smoke, and I want those two cowards on run," Rick answered coldly. "After what they did today, they better start pulling their weight, or they can take their chances on the road."

John laughed. "I agree with you there! No goldbricks! I saw enough of that from the FNGs in 'Nam! "

"Any other picks?"

"How about Sasha?"

Rick thought about what Michonne told him and shook his head. "No. She's a good shot. She can help Glenn guard the prison."

"What about her brother, Tyreese?"

"I don't know," Rick admitted. "Tyreese is a strong guy, but he already helped Glenn and Maggie collect the guns from the tombs, and he helped put up the new gate. I think he's done his share for a while."

"I'll get Tyreese to go along," John smiled. "That guy needs to grow some balls. It's no wonder he washed out in the NFL."

Rick thought about defending Tyreese, but chose not to because he apparently mended his relationship with John. "Anyone else you'd like to bring along?" he asked.

"How about Eddie?"

Rick shook his head. "No. Eddie's a carpenter, and we'll need him to help carve the cheval de frise that'll flank the new gate."

"The giant pincushions, huh?" John asked as he scratched his temple. "Okay, how about…Karen and Juan?"

"Why did you pick them?" Rick asked.

"Karen's got experience as a guard, and her aim's pretty good. As for Juan, I heard the Governor took him along on a few of his earlier supply runs."

"Okay, so including me and my people, that gives us nine people for the supply run."

"Ten," John grinned as he raised his index finger.

"You want to go, John?" Rick asked.

"Hey, you need someone who can shoot, and you can testify to my aim," John answered.

"I can, but if you're going along you follow my lead," Rick ordered.

John studied Rick for a moment before he held out his hand. "Deal," he said.

Rick shook John's hand.

"So are we going into Atlanta tomorrow?" John asked. "The cities have to be clear by now."

"Well…not exactly," Rick answered.

"What?" John asked.

"Do you remember that new hotel and casino they opened a few months before...all of this?"

John nodded slowly. "Yeah, the El Dorado: the first legal casino in the state of Georgia."

"Well, I hope it was so new, it's stocked with supplies, and nobody else who's survived this long has thought about raiding it or forting up in it."

John chuckled. "I never thought I'd tell you this, Rick, but it sounds like a good idea."

"Thanks," Rick smiled. "Do you mind if I step inside when you ask your people to join the supply run? If they have any questions, I might be able to answer them."

"Hey, you're the boss around here, right?" John quipped as he gestured for Rick to step inside.

Rick smiled and stepped inside Cell Block D. As Rick walked past, John's smile faded and he glared at Rick as he walked into the common room. _I almost called that son of a bitch 'the Governor, and he threatened to kill me over it earlier,_ ' John thought. _I don't doubt that he would kill me if he had the chance._

•••

In Cell Block C, Beth lay on her stomach on the bottom bunk of her cell, reading a worn paperback copy of _Bridget Jones's_ _Diary_ , when Judith began crying from the common room, a few moments later, Beth heard the baby's cries growing louder over the sound of rushing footsteps. "Beth!" Carl shouted.

Beth sat up on her bunk and dropped her book just as Carl reached her cell's doorway, with his sister Judith crying in his arms.

"What's wrong, Carl?" Beth asked worriedly.

Carl looked wide-eyed at Beth and held Judith away from his body.

Beth gasped. _Oh my God! Judith's dead and she turned into a walker!_ The teenage girl thought.

"Judith needs a diaper change!" Carl shouted.

Beth blinked a few times and she dropped her head in disbelief and sighed. "Carl…you've got to be kidding me," she muttered angrily.

A moment later, Beth got up from the bunk, took Judith into her arms.

"Thanks," Carl smiled.

"Don't mention it," Beth grumbled as she stomped out of her cell.

Carl walked out of Beth's cell and followed her as she walked down the hallway and into his father's cell. Beth placed Judith on the bottom bunk, and then she got the diaper bag Rick kept beside Judith's crib.

Beth opened the diaper bag, took out a folded blanket, and spread it out beside Judith. Beth then picked Judith up, placed her down on the blanket, and began to unbutton the baby's onesie pajamas.

Carl pulled the brim of his Stetson down in a rakish fashion and leaned against the cell's doorway with his arms folded across his chest. "Well, I'll be going on the supply run tomorrow," he bragged.

Beth removed Judith's soiled diaper and dropped in the wastebasket beside the toilet. "Uh-huh," she said with disinterest.

Carl looked puzzled at Beth for a moment, and then he lowered his head again. "Yeah, it'll be like the old days."

Beth stopped cleaning Judith with a baby wipe and looked over at Carl. "What?" she asked in disbelief.

Carl pushed the brim of his Stetson up and stood straight. "You know…the old days. When we were on the road," he explained meekly.

Beth shook her head in disbelief. "That was last year, and it sucked," she spat angrily.

Carl lowered his head bashfully, while Beth dropped the baby wipe in the wastebasket and sprinkled a light coat of baby powder on Judith's bottom; Judith waved her limbs up in the air and giggled.

"I don't know what's gotten into you, Carl," Beth complained as she rummaged through the bag for a fresh diaper, "you're always begging your dad to let you go outside the fence and kill some walkers. Is that how you want to spend your life?"

"No," Carl answered as he looked at Beth longingly.

Beth found a diaper and looked at Carl. "Then prove it. Tell your dad you changed your mind about going with him on the supply run. Start learning some new skills, like cooking, cleaning, and changing a baby's diaper."

"Changing a baby's diaper?! No way!" Carl shouted as he waved his hands fearfully.

"Come on, you're going to do this one day when you have a baby of your own!" Beth argued.

The image of Beth holding her own baby—a baby she conceived with Carl —flashed through the young boy's mind. Carl shut his eyes, blushed, took off his Stetson and waved it in front of his red face like he was trying to swat away an annoying fly. "No!" he shouted.

Beth held up her hands in surrender. "All right! All right! No diaper changing!" she then unfolded the diaper, and slipped it around Judith's bottom. "Jeeze! Refusing to change dirty diapers must be part of male DNA!"

Carl's complexion lightened, he sighed weakly, his shoulders slumped, and he put the Stetson back on his head. "Well…I still want to go on that supply run. Is…is there anything I can get you?"

Beth picked up Judith, stood up, and faced Carl. "Are you serious?" she asked in disbelief.

"Yeah," Carl nodded enthusiastically, sensing he had another chance to impress Beth.

"I thought this supply run was for food."

"Yeah, but I might find something cool when we get to wherever my dad is going to take us," Carl explained. "I can get you some new books. An iPod. Maybe a guitar to help with your signing—"

Carl stopped talking the moment he realized that he just insulted Beth's singing talent, and he blushed again.

Beth stood still in the center of her cell with Judith cooing in her arms. "You'd… **really** get me a guitar?" she asked doubtfully.

Carl stared at Beth's beautiful face; sweat drops began to roll down his forehead and his heart started beating faster. "Yes," he answered.

Beth smiled a moment later. "It wouldn't be any trouble…I mean…with your dad?"

Carl smiled too and he shook his head. "Oh, no way would it be any trouble! I mean, how much space does a guitar take up?"

"Not too much, I guess," Beth giggled as she brushed the yellow locks off her left ear.

"All right! I'll find you a guitar, Beth!" Carl said as he looked over his shoulder and walked backwards out of her cell, "an accoustic guitar. An electric guitar, the guitar that Kermit the Frog played, I'll find you one!"

Carl stepped out into the hallway and ran towards the common room. Beth—with Judith in her arms— ran to her cell's doorway and peaked out into the hallway to watch Carl running away.

"Kermit played a banjo, but an acoustic guitar would be all right!" Beth called out happily.

•••

Inside Cell Block D, Marianna sat on the vestibule's steps while her group went about the common room, talking excitedly about tomorrow's supply run, and wishing John and the five other volunteers luck. Marianna's husband Juan was among them, but it wouldn't be the first time he'd risked his life to bring back supplies. Marianna put the knuckle of her right index finger to her lips and bit down softly as she remembered what happened when she and her husband were on the road with Philip Blake, the man who'd later be known as the Governor.

•••

It was the evening of the day the Zavalas' joined Philip Blake's small caravan in the outskirts of Atlanta, Georgia. They had set up camp in the middle of a field, and a low campfire was burning in the center, with the group gathered around it for warmth and camaraderie. Their leader, Philip, had gone to scout the area.

Marianna walked over to the wounded Merle Dixon, who sat Indian style with a heavy blanket drapped over his shoulders and the gauze wrapped around the stump at the end of his right arm visible from the light of the campfire.

"Here," Marianna said as she sat down and offered Merle a cup.

Merle leaned forward and sniffed the aroma drifting up from the cup. "That ain't coffee," he grumbled.

"Si, it's chicken noodle soup," Marianna said.

"Where'd you get it?"

"From my pantry. Juan packed some supplies before we left our apartment."

"Soup huh? I thought the only thing you people ate were tacos."

Marianna gasped in shock, and clenched the cup in anger. She was tempted to toss the cup's hot contents into Merle's face but she held her arm steady. "You need your strength. Take it, por favor."

Merle looked at the middle-aged Latina woman for a few moments and he raised his open left hand. Marianna gave the cup of soup to the gruff redneck, stood up, and began to walk away.

"Hey, senorita," Merle said softly.

Marianna stopped and turned around. "Ci?" she asked.

"Gracias," Merle said as he raised the cup of soup.

Marianna smiled in return, walked over to her husband Juan, and Philip's young daughter, Penny, and sat down between them.

"When's my dad coming back?" Penny asked worriedly as she brushed her doll's hair.

"Soon, bebè," Marianna answered as she put her arm around Penny's shoulders.

"He's been gone for over an hour," Juan grumbled as he looked at his watch.

"I wouldn't worry too much about him, Mr. Zavala," Milton said as he stirred a spoon inside his cup of soup.

"Què?" Juan asked.

"Philip kept all nine of us safe in the heart of Atlanta for nearly a month," Milton explained. "The day before he decided we should leave, he went on one last supply run and brought back that…ignoramus over there," Milton whispered as he gestured across the campfire at Merle, who was drinking his soup. "Philip's a good man, and a wise man. He'll be back."

"Sooner than you think, Milton," a friendly voice said in the distance.

Milton dropped his cup and jumped like he'd heard a rattlesnake. He spun around and saw Philip outside of the camp, with an AR-15 rifle slung over his shoulder, a flashlight in his hand, and his Beretta 92SB pistol in its cross draw holster.

"Daddy!" Penny cried happily as she stood up and ran to her father. Philip knelt down, and Penny threw her arms around his neck, and he hugged her with his left arm. "I was so worried!" she cried.

"I'm fine, Penny. Just fine," Philip said as he stood up and led his daughter back to camp by the hand. "In fact, I've got good news."

"What news is that, Philip?" Nick asked, as he stood up from the campfire and slung his own AR-15 over his shoulder.

"I found another camp of refugees about four or five miles from here," Philip answered. "There's not a lot of people, but they have plenty of supplies, and we'll need both if we're going to make it to Ft. Benning."

"What are you saying, Philip?" the woman with two kids asked.

"I'm saying we should go into their camp and ask them to join us," Philip answered.

"Do you mean right now?" Milton asked.

"Absolutely," Philip answered.

"I agree with Philip," Nick said as he looked at his wife, Alice.

"Maybe we should finish dinner and talk about it," Alice suggested.

"No. We can't waste time and we can't waste the daylight," Philip insisted. "I'll take the Dodge and drive to their camp. But I need two volunteers to go along and help convince them to join us."

"Shit, if these idiots have American food, I'll volunteer to go over there and say howdy," Merle said as he threw the blanket off his shoulders and struggled to stand up.

"No, Merle," Philip ordered as he walked around the campfire and put a hand on the wounded redneck's shoulder, "you stay here and get your strength back."

Merle nodded and sank to the ground. "If I ever see that Officer Friendly again…" he muttered as he struggled to put the blanket over his shoulders again.

Philip bent down, patted Merle on the back, and stood straight. "Juan, could you help me and Nick out?"

Juan's eyes widened. "You want me to go with you?" he asked.

"Let me put it this way: if you're going to stay with us, you need to contribute," Philip grinned.

"Si," Juan said nervously as he picked up the Remington 870 shotgun he took from the wrecked squad car.

Marianna grabbed her husband's forearm, and they looked at each other. "Juan, I don't like this," she whispered.

"I don't either, but we're a part of this group until we get to Ft. Benning," Juan said.

Marianna shook her head, "He can't be serious about throwing us out of the group."

"I'm not going to give him that chance, Marianna," Juan said as he gently pried himself free of his wife's grip and walked away.

Penny ran over to Marianna's side, and put her arm around the Latina woman's waist. Mariana put her hand on the little girl's shoulder comfortingly as they both watched the three men climb into the Dodge Grand Caravan.

"Be careful, Daddy," Penny said as she waved at her father.

"I'll be fine, sweetie," Philip smiled as he waved from the driver's seat.

A moment later Philip turned the key, and the Dodge's engine rumbled to life, and they drove across the field, onto the empty road, turned left, and drove down the road until they disappeared from sight.

•••

Mariana blinked a few times and found herself in Cell Block D's common room. She stood up, walked past the Woodburians milling about the room, entered the cell block, and walked along the hallway until she reached the cell she shared with her husband. She peered inside and saw Juan sitting at the iron desk bolted onto the wall, using a whetstone to sharpen his pocket knife.

"Juan," Marianna said.

"Què?" Juan asked as he looked at his wife.

Marianna stepped inside the cell. "I don't want you to go on this supply run," she ordered.

Juan sighed and folded the knife's blade into the handle. "Miel, I have to," he said sadly.

"You don't have to! Not this time!" Marianna pleaded as she knelt down beside Juan and grabbed his hand.

"Marianna, stop it," Juan ordered as he pulled his arm away and stood up from the cell room's chair.

Marianna leapt to her feet and faced her husband. "Juan, I don't trust Rick!" she shouted.

"Si, you think he's going to kill us all."

Marianna blinked.

"Jeanette told me what you said yesterday. I've asked her not to tell the rest of the group."

"Well, at least I don't have to tip-toe around it," Marianna muttered.

"Miel, we're just going to get some supplies," Juan said reassuringly.

"Like you did that time with the Governor?" Marianna asked.

Juan sighed and rubbed his eyes. "I told you, I didn't have a choice—"

"Not after you agreed to go with him!" Marianna shouted.

"We needed those supplies."

"At what cost?"

"I've told you before that I'm sorry. I've asked God for forgiveness, but I don't think He's answered anyone's prayers for a very long time!"

Juan brushed past Marianna and stepped out of the cell, but she grabbed him by the forearm, which made him stop in his tracks and look at her.

"Don't go with Rick," Marianna pleaded again.

"I have to. If we don't contribute to this prison we'll be thrown out, and we'll die," Juan explained.

"Don't you see? Rick's no different from the Governor," Marianna insisted. "He'll kill us all, one way or another."

Juan looked at Marianna for a few moments, and then he nodded at his forearm. Marianna looked down, saw that she had grabbed her husband, and let him go. Juan walked away and Marianna began to weep, she stepped out of the hallway, and wiped the tears from her eyes as she watched her husband enter the common room.


	9. Chapter 9

**CHAPTER 9**

The iron door to Cell Block C slid open and Rick stood in the doorway and watched irritably as the rain poured down from the overcast sky. _Has it been raining all night?_ Rick thought.

Rick, wearing his jacket and his gun belt, looked out at the field and saw the small column of rocks that shielded the campfire, but Glenn and Maggie weren't there. He looked at the ruined guard tower alongside the new gate and saw a dim lit emitting from its partially closed doorway. No doubt the young couple went inside the tower when it started raining. Next, Rick looked down at the main gate and saw one walker tangled up in the barbed wire fence that protected its right flank. Rick took a deep breath of the cold air and slid the iron door shut.

Rick walked across the vestibule, down its staircase, and entered the common room. At the same moment, Carol entered through the cell block. The sheriff's deputy immediately noticed how slowly the housewife was walking, along with the dark circles under her eyes, her uncombed short, grey hair, and her rumpled clothes; she had obviously slept very little. "Good morning, Carol," he said warmly.

The exhausted Carol didn't acknowledge Rick and continued walking towards the shelves where the group kept the hot plate, the utensils, the boxes of oatmeal that served as their meals, and the coolers containing the tap water they collected for cooking.

"Good morning, Carol," Rick repeated a bit louder.

Carol gasped in surprise and she spun around to face Rick, her right hand crossed her waist to grab the Colt Detective Special she usually kept tucked in her waist belt, but it wasn't there, and Rick was no danger to her if it was.

"Oh, Rick!" Carol laughed when she realized who it was that startled her, "you scared the hell out of me!"

"I'm sorry," Rick apologized.

Carol wiped her hands down her face. "It's all right."

Rick knew that Carol was exhausted, but decided now wasn't the time to address that. "So are you getting breakfast ready?" he asked.

"Yeah," Carol nodded, "it's our last oatmeal breakfast, right?"

"It will be our last one way or another. We've got just two boxes left."

"Are you really taking Carl on the supply run?"

"Carl's been pleading for the chance to help the group," Rick explained as he walked across the common room. "After he protected the guns yesterday from that coward Sam, he's definitely earned his chance."

Carol folded her arms across her chest and looked at the floor. "Keep him beside you, Rick. Don't make the same mistake that I did."

A chill ran through Rick's body and he thought back to that dark day a year ago on the highway when Carol's young daughter Sophia fled into the woods with two walkers following her.

•••

Rick was hiding underneath a truck, waiting calmly for the herd of walkers staggered away from the dozens of abandoned vehicles that halted the group's journey to Ft. Benning, when he heard Sophia's screams and he crawled out from underneath the truck and ran into the woods to her rescue. When Rick caught up to Sophia, he carried her to a creek bed, and told her to stay there while he drew the two walkers away.

"No! No! No! No! Don't leave me!" Sophia pleaded.

"They don't get winded; I do. I can only deal with them one at a time or I won't be able to protect you," Rick explained quickly.

Sophia was scared, but she nodded that she understood.

Rick put a hand against Sophia's cheek, so she would look at him and hear what he had to tell her. "This is how we both survive, you understand?"

Sophia nodded again.

"If I don't come back, run back to the highway, straight the way we came. Keep the sun on your left shoulder."

The two walkers staggered up to the creek bed. Rick drew them away and killed them. But when he returned, Sophia was gone.

Rick ran back to the highway, hoping that Sophia had followed his instructions in case he hadn't returned, but she wasn't there either. Carol broke down and cried as Lori and Andrea tried to console her. A search with Daryl in the lead was organized, but Carl was shot in a hunting accident, and the overweight, remorseful hunter Otis, pointed the horrified Rick in the direction of Hershel Greene's farm.

Shane brought back the medical supplies that saved Carl's life, but the cost was Otis' life. As the days went by, and Carl's health improved, the hopes of finding Sophia grew dimmer, and every time Rick searched the woods, ate his meals, or lied down to sleep, the last words he heard Sophia speak rang through his mind.

" _No! No! No! No! Don't leave me!"_

Then one day Glenn told the group that there were walkers in Hershel's barn. The old veterinarian was convinced the dead were in fact sick, and he had gathered up his dead wife, stepson, and neighbors into the barn in preparation for the day when science found a cure.

Rick wanted to cooperate with Hershel so the group could stay on the farm, but Shane wanted to break open the barn and gun the walkers down…and that's what he did.

And just when it seemed all the walkers had staggered out of the barn, the last one did.

Sophia.

A devastated Carol ran towards her daughter, but Daryl grabbed her and held her back. The rest of the group watched in sorrow or shock as the walker girl continued staggering towards them, growling in hunger. Rick—on the verge of tears—walked forward, drew his Colt Python revolver, and took aim on the girl he'd failed to save.

BLAM!

•••

Rick blinked several times and found himself back in the common room of Cell Block C. Carol stood a few yards in front of him, with her arms folded across her chest, and looking down at her boots, unaware that he had been briefly carried away on a wave of bad memories.

"Carol," Rick said softly.

Carol looked up at Rick, with tears in her tired eyes.

"That…that wasn't your fault. It was my fault," Rick admitted, "There were at least a dozen things I could've done differently, and Sophia would be alive today. I'm sorry."

Carol smiled softly and the tears ran down her face. "Thank you, Rick," she said as she wiped her tears away with her fingers.

Rick smiled in return. "You're welcome. So why don't you sit down and let me cook breakfast?"

"No, Rick. You don't have—"

"I've cooked a pot of oatmeal before," Rick interrupted softly, "besides, you look tired."

Carol's shoulders slumped, and a moment later she yawned; it seemed as if she realized that Rick had discovered the truth and there was no point in carrying on the charade. "All right, you win."

Rick removed his jacket, folded it up, and placed it on one of the common room's tables. Then, he placed the hotplate atop one of the folding tables, and plugged it into a nearby outlet. Meanwhile, Carol sat down at one of the common room's tables, leaned forward, and placed the palm of her hand on her forehead as she struggled to stay awake.

"Couldn't sleep last night, huh?" Rick asked as he removed a cooler's lid and poured the tap water slowly into the cooking pot.

Carol thought back to last night, lying on the top bunk of her cell, and thinking about Daryl going on the supply run tomorrow. At some point thunderclouds burst outside the prison and within moments the sounds of heavy rain followed, but it didn't lull her to sleep. "No," Carol admitted softly.

"Were you thinking about the supply run?" Rick asked as he placed the cooking pot filled with water atop the hot plate, its coils starting to turn red.

Carol thought about Daryl, with his crossbow slung over his shoulder and riding away on his motorcycle. "Yeah," she answered softly.

Rick took a box of oatmeal from the shelf and looked at Carol for a moment. "Were you upset that I didn't pick you to join the supply run?"

This time, Carol thought about Daryl, with his crossbow in his hands, stalking the deserted streets of Atlanta…alone. "A little," Carol answered with a twist of the truth.

Rick poured the oatmeal into the now boiling pot and threw the empty box into a nearby trashcan. "You know, Carol, Daryl told me about the shootout you both had against that gang at the feed mill. You held your own, but I thought after what you went through when the Governor attacked us, I would be asking too much of you."

Carol lowered her hand to the table, and thought about the Governor's first attack on the prison.

•••

It had been a difficult 24 hours: the rescue mission for Glenn and Maggie had been successful, but Daryl had left with his big brother Merle. Rick had seemingly gone mad and had forced Tyreese and his group out of the prison at gunpoint. Now, Carol stood on the courtyard watching as Rick searched the tree line for Lori, who days earlier bled out from an emergency Caesarian section.

The timid inmate Axel ran onto the courtyard and stood beside Carol. "Stress, in your man, Rick?" he asked as they both watched the group's leader walking back into the woods after a brief conversation with Hershel.

"Can you blame him?" Carol asked.

"Nah, not at all," Axel admitted. "In here I've seen plenty of dude's crack. Not me; I got along better in the inside. Things made more sense, you know? There're rules. Life was more…simple."

"Didn't you miss your brother?" Carol asked.

"My brother? Hell no! He had a real money problem." Axel said.

"What kind of problem?"

"He didn't lend me any!"

Carol laughed, and Axel laughed too. For a moment, all of the stress and fears were forgotten.

Then Axel said, "One time that son of a—"

BRAKKA!

Axel's head exploded, blood and brain matter flew onto Carol's face and hair, and then his dead body knocked her to the ground. The Governor was attacking and the group was caught unprepared.

A sniper had discreetly climbed atop one of the guard towers and fired several shots at Carol, who used Axel's body for cover until Maggie killed the sniper. By then, the Governor was gone...but Daryl was back, and he brought Merle with him.

•••

Carol blinked and she saw Rick staring at her, as if he was expecting her to say thank you for keeping her out of danger. "You still could've asked me, Rick," she said firmly, with her blue eyes burning.

Now, it was Rick who blinked. "Uh, I'm sorry, Carol, but—"

"I'm not afraid anymore, Rick," Carol interrupted. "I'm not afraid of the walkers. I'm not afraid of men like Ed or the Governor. I'm not afraid to do what's necessary to protect the group."

"Uh, okay, Carol. I'll…keep that in mind," Rick said meekly.

Carol placed the palm of her hand against her forehead again and looked down at the table, the fire in her blue eyes faded and the exhaustion returned. Rick looked back at the boiling pot of oatmeal, picked up a wooden spatula, and began stirring it.

•••

A lantern set upon the first step of the staircase lit the interior of the cold, grey guard tower. Lying a few feet away, naked and inside a sleeping bag, were Glenn and Maggie; their clothes were in a pile underneath the staircase, and their shotguns and blade weapons lay nearby.

Glenn lay on his back, with his forearm underneath his head. He was looking up at the trap door high above him and Maggie. Maggie was pressed to Glen's side, with her head resting atop his shoulder and her arm across his chest. They both listened to the rain pelting the sentry box roof, and the walker caught in the barbed wire fence outside, growling in a low voice.

After a minute of listening to the walker's growls, Glenn asked, "Uh…do you want me to go outside and, you know…take care of it?"

Maggie opened her eyes and raised her head slightly to hear the walker better. "No," she said as she lay her head down on Glenn's shoulder again, "it's not going to get free."

Glenn kissed the top of Maggie's head, and pulled her closer to his side.

After another minute, Glenn said, "I think we better get dressed. You know, before Rick and the replacement sentries show up."

Maggie yawned and moved her hand over to Glenn's neck. "Five more minutes."

Glenn and Maggie continued to lie quietly inside the sleeping bag. Finally, Glenn sighed and said, "I should be going with them."

Maggie raised her head and placed her hand on Glenn's chest. "What do you mean?" she asked worriedly.

"The supply run," Glenn answered. "I should be going with them."

"You can't be serious," Maggie said.

"I am," Glenn admitted.

"Rick said you—we—didn't have to go with him."

"I know. But if he asked me, I would have said yes."

Maggie sat up and the sleeping bag fell off her back and pooled around her thighs. "Stop risking your life every time Rick gives you the chance!" she ordered.

Glenn sat up and he held onto Maggie's shoulders. "Hey, Maggie. Don't—"

"No!" Maggie shouted as she brushed off Glenn's hands and glared at him with her hands squeezing her knees. "You risked your life trying to get that walker out of the well. You just risked your life getting those guns out of the tombs. You don't have to prove anything to Rick or to me!"

Glenn looked on in surprise as tears started to fall from Maggie's eyes. Glenn held up a hand to signal a pause, and when it appeared she had calmed down, he leaned forward, wrapped his arms around Maggie, and pulled her gently into an embrace.

"I'm sorry," Glenn whispered as his hand brushed up and down Maggie's unkempt hair.

"Me too," Maggie sniffled.

Glenn smiled, kissed Maggie's temple, and then he pulled her back so he could talk to her. "Look, scavenging…that's what I contributed to the group when we got together at the quarry. I didn't know the first thing about it! I mean, the term "scavenge" is just a polite word for "theft", but I helped keep the group fed. I helped keep the group warm. I helped keep the group safe. But lately, I haven't been able to do that. I feel so …useless."

Maggie's wet eyes widened and her mouth dropped open. "No. No, Glenn. You're not worthless. You're just as important to the group as Rick!"

"Really?" Glenn asked in bewilderment.

"You stepped in for Rick when he broke down after Lori died!" Maggie answered.

Glenn shook his head. "Yeah, and I wasn't here when he attacked the prison. Some leader I was."

"We survived it, didn't we?"

Glenn didn't answer and lowered his head.

Maggie held Glenn's head and tilted it up so he could look at her. "I love you, and I believe in you. Start believing in yourself."

The young couple gazed at each other for a few moments, until Glenn said, "Well, today is a good day to start."

"Maggie smiled. "Yes, it is."

Glenn stood up, and held out a hand; Maggie took it and he pulled her to her feet. "Come on, our five minutes are probably up, we better get dressed."

"I guess so," Maggie shrugged, "I mean, you remember the last time we were caught with our pants down."

Glenn blushed and covered his face with his hand. He remembered waking up inside the tower that overlooked the courtyard to the sound of Daryl calling their names. Glenn quickly put on his boxers and jeans and stepped out onto the tower's observation deck to see Daryl, Rick, Carol, and T-Dog all looking up at him from the main gate, and from the grins on their faces, they all knew what he and Maggie had been doing last night.

"Oh, God," he muttered.

"Uh-huh," Maggie agreed with equal embarrassment.

•••

Inside the common room of Cell Block C, the rest of the prison group slowly ate the last scoops of their oatmeal breakfast. Carl sat with Beth (the girl was spoon-feeding Judith, who sat on her lap) and Hershel. Daryl sat with Carol. Michonne sat alone, with a bowl of oatmeal and a cup of coffee in front of her.

Footsteps echoed from the vestibule and a moment later Rick appeared. The prison group looked up from their breakfast and at their leader as he walked down the staircase.

"It's still raining," Rick announced as he pulled off his jacket and draped it across an empty bench.

The prison group muttered apprehensively amongst themselves while Rick poured himself a cup of coffee.

"We're still going on the supply run, aren't we, Dad?" Carl asked worriedly.

Rick looked down at his cup of coffee, and moved it slowly in a small circle to let the beverage slosh around inside the cup. "Yes, Carl," he answered.

Carl breathed a small sigh of relief and smiled.

"Driving on the highway, towards Atlanta, is dangerous enough, Rick. The rain will only make things worse," Hershel said.

"I know, Hershel. But we've got to make this run. Hopefully the rain will let up before noon and we can get on the road."

"Ain't no way we go to El Dorado and back in one day," Daryl said.

Across the table from Daryl, Carol looked down at her bowl of oatmeal and her fingers tightened around the spoon discreetly.

"I know," Rick nodded as he filled a bowl with oatmeal, "I thought we could spend the night at the casino and return to the prison in the morning."

"A lot can happen in forty-eight hours," Hershel said.

"I know what can happen here: all of us starving to death," Michonne said.

"She's right. That deer I brought back was barely an adult," Daryl said. "We're goin' to need that food until more game shows up."

"We just don't need food: we're almost out of gasoline," Rick said.

"And we'll need medicine too," Carol said, hoping the revelation would make Rick reconsider his decision to exclude her from the supply run.

Rick nodded and sat down with Carl, Judith, and the Greenes. "I'm sure the casino's hotel has an infirmary."

Carol glared at Rick and said nothing.

"Rick, have you considered the chances that you'll encounter survivors?" Hershel asked.

"Yes, I've considered that," Rick answered as he picked up a spoon, scooped some oatmeal from his bowl, and ate it.

Beth put down the spoon she was using to feed Judith, and looked nervously from her father to Rick. Carl appeared angry that Hershel suggested bringing new people to the prison, because he picked at his oatmeal with his spoon. Daryl and Carol were eating their breakfast slowly, but it seemed they were preoccupied with their own thoughts. Michonne at her oatmeal slowly, and sipped from her cup of coffee.

Hershel looked at Rick again and asked, "If you encountered survivors, and they weren't violent, would you bring them here?"

Rick picked at the oatmeal with the spoon and ate the next portion with less enthusiasm. "The priority is food and other supplies, not rescuing survivors."

Carl smiled at his father's answer and nodded in agreement.

Hershel brought his cup of coffee to his lips, took a sip, and put the cup down on the table. "What if they don't take no for an answer, Rick? What if they follow you back here?"

Rick picked at his breakfast with his spoon for a few moments before he looked up at Hershel. "We'll take another route back to the prison; that should keep anyone from getting an idea as to where we're from. And if anyone does follow us, they'll wish they hadn't."

Rick and Hershel stared at one another; there was no hate in the moment. Rick scooped up a spoonful of oatmeal, put it in his mouth, and swallowed it slowly.

•••

By 10 o'clock a.m., the rain had eased to a drizzle, so Rick decided it was time for the 10-man group to leave for El Dorado.

Inside his cell, Rick checked his gear: his primary weapon would be a M4A1 rifle, with two magazines holding 30 rounds of 5.56x45mm ammunition. Rick slipped one magazine into the rifle's receiver, and slipped the spare into his back pocket.

From his other back pocket, Rick took out his Gerber DMF Folder pocket knife. He flipped it open, looked at the blade, and then he folded the blade into the handle, and returned the pocket knife to his back pocket.

Next, Rick drew his Colt Python revolver from its holster, opened the cylinder, and ejected the six casings into the palm of his left hand, and placed them on the cell's iron desk. Six casings, four spent. Rick had fired three rounds to kill walkers outside the fence line the day Daryl, Carol, and Michonne left on their separate missions: Daryl and Carol to retrieve Merle's body, and Michonne to hunt the Governor. But the first spent casing had held the bullet Andrea used to commit suicide because she had been bit by the walker Milton in the Governor's torture chamber.

Rick picked up the first spent casing and stared at it. A moment later he heard Andrea's voice in his head.

" _I know how the safety works."_

Rick placed the spent casing upright on his desk, and loaded the two remaining live rounds into the Python's cylinders. Rick then dug into his shirt pocket, took out four .357 magnum rounds, placed them into the empty chambers, closed the cylinder into the Python's frame, and holstered it.

Rick then picked up his secondary weapon from the desk: a Glock 19 pistol with a homemade suppressor made from a Maglite flashlight. A year ago on Hershel's farm, Shane intended to use the pistol to kill Rick, but Rick convinced his best friend and partner in law enforcement to lower the weapon, and when Shane did, he stabbed him through the heart with a knife. Rick took the pistol with him when the group fled the herd of walkers invading the farm. Soon after that, Rick took a Maglite flashlight and made it into a suppressor so he could fire the pistol without attracting attention, especially from walkers.

Next, Rick picked up a small Maglite flashlight, pressed its button "on" and "off" to see if the batteries were still fresh, and placed it in his jacket's left pocket.

Finally, Rick picked up his Motorola walkie-talkie. The prison carried the same brand as the King County Sheriff's Department, so Rick planned to use them to keep in contact with Daryl, who would be the group's scout.

Rick looked at the walkie-talkie and thought about Morgan Jones, the man who saved him shortly after waking up from his coma to a world overrun with the dead, and his family missing. Rick decided to go to Atlanta and find Lori and Carl, but Morgan decided to stay behind in King County with his son Duane. Rick gave him a walkie-talkie that could receive, but not respond, so he told Morgan to turn it on at dawn every day, and he'd keep him posted on his journey to Atlanta.

It had been over a year since Rick sent Morgan a message. Did Morgan and Duane go to Atlanta as they said they would? Did they get the message he left for them back at the quarry? Had they stayed in King County? Did they get cut off by walkers and tried for somewhere else? Were they dead? It was likely Rick would never know.

Rick thought about one of the last things he told Morgan over the walkie-talkie.

" _There's just a few of us now. So we've gotta stick together, fight for each other, be willing to lay down our lives for each other if it comes to that. It's the only chance we've got."_

Rick buttoned up his jacket, and stuck the walkie-talkie in a pocket; next he slung the M4A1 rifle over his shoulder, and holding the Glock 19 pistol by its frame, walked out of the cell block, out the common room's side door, and stepped into the cold, mid-morning drizzle.

•••

"Dad!" Carl shouted happily.

Rick looked in the direction of Carl's voice and saw him standing in front of Michonne. Carl wore his battered Stetson hat, jacket, and had his Beretta 92FS pistol holstered at his side. Michonne wore her hooded cape, and had both hands on her sheathed katana like it was a cane.

"All set, Carl?" Rick asked as he walked over to his son and Michonne.

"You bet!" Carl answered with a grin.

"Okay, you and Michonne will ride with me in the Dodge."

Carl nodded and ran towards the four vehicles lined up on the courtyard.

"It's like he's going to the mall," Michonne smiled as she and Rick watched Carl run to the truck.

Rick thought back to when Lori was alive and their marriage was happy and strong, and how Carl would run a few steps ahead of them as they walked along the corridors of the local mall, pleading with his parents if they could go to Toys R Us, Spencer Gifts, Pet Express, and if they could get pizza at the food court. "Yeah, just your typical kid," he agreed wistfully.

Rick looked around the courtyard: the four vehicles that were being used for the convoy were ready to go. Daryl's Triumph Bonneville chopper led the way, followed by the prison group's Dodge Ram 1500. Next was the bread truck that the Governor used as a 'walker bomb' for his surprise attack on the prison, its metal ramp was still attached to the rear. The vehicle bringing up the rear was a Chevy Silverado truck, which Daryl had hotwired from the prison staff's parking lot.

The members Rick and John selected from their respective groups stood in a circle, talking to one another; Daryl stood outside the circle and wore his Navajo print poncho, with his Stryker Strykezone 380 crossbow slung over his back, and he had a holstered revolver bundled under his left arm.

The Woodburians, along with the rest of the prison group, stood to the side, waiting for the convoy to drive off and bring back some real food.

"Excuse me. I've got to talk to John and the others before we head out," Rick said to Michonne.

Michonne nodded. "I'll be with Carl," she said. Michonne then held her katana by its scabbard, and walked towards the truck.

As Rick walked over to the Woodbury group, they lined up side-by-side like soldiers about to be inspected by a general. John wore his Atlanta Braves cap, a jacket, and his Colt M1911A1 pistol was holstered by his side. Karen and Juan also wore jackets, but Karen carried an M4A1 rifle, and Juan carried his Remington 870 shotgun. Tyreese wore his knit cap and a long-sleeved T-shirt, he carried a Mossberg 500 shotgun, and his framing hammer was at his side. Floyd and Sam both wore jackets and had a Beretta 92FS pistol stuck in their waistbands, and Sam wore a slouch hat, but the hat wasn't just to protect Sam's face from the light rain; he still bore the bruises from the beating Rick inflicted upon him from yesterday.

"Is everyone ready?" Rick asked.

Rick was answered by mutters and nods. Daryl stood still and silent.

"All the gasoline canisters loaded onto the truck beds?"

More mutters and nods.

"You've got your walkie-talkie, Daryl?"

Daryl raised his right hand, revealing a walkie-talkie.

"Okay. Tyreese and Karen: you two are in the bread truck. John, Sam, Juan, and Floyd: you four are in the Chevy. Any questions?"

There were none.

"Saddle up," Rick ordered.

The two groups headed to their vehicles as the Woodburians started to cheer. Donna walked over to John and they embraced.

"Be careful," Donna pleaded as her eyes filled with tears.

"Always am," John grinned before he kissed Donna's forehead.

Marianna walked over to Juan and embraced him tightly. "I love you, Juan," she said as she closed her eyes and hugged him tightly.

"I love you too, Miel," Juan said as he hugged Marianna back.

Juan and Marianna separated and looked at each other. "Remember, if there are people living in that casino and Rick tells you—"

"Rick's not the Governor," Juan interrupted as he squeezed her forearms tighter than he intended, "will you please stop it?"

Marianna winced in pain and lowered her head. "I'm sorry," she whispered.

Juan's expression softened and he placed a thumb under Marianna's chin and tilted her head up. "Listen, everyone's fled the city by now. Nothing bad is going to happen this time."

Marianna looked at Juan and smiled bravely. Juan leaned down and kissed her.

"I love you," Juan said.

"I love you, too," Marianna replied sadly.

Rick walked over to Glenn and Maggie (they got dressed before the replacement sentries arrived). Glenn wore his white baseball cap, and had Shane's Mossberg 590 shotgun slung over his back.

"Glenn, do you think you can take care of this place for twenty-four hours?" Rick asked.

Glenn nodded. "I've done it before," he said confidently.

Rick grinned and patted Glenn on the shoulder. "I know you have, thank you."

Glenn smiled and stood a bit taller. "Good luck, Rick," he said.

Rick nodded and walked towards the Dodge Ram 1500 truck. He opened the driver's side door and climbed inside. Michonne sat in the passenger seat, and Carl sat in the rear passenger seat. Rick fastened his seat belt and looked at his two passengers. "Seat belts," he ordered.

Carl huffed irritably, but fastened his seatbelt. Michonne shook her head in amusement, and fastened her seat belt too.

Daryl walked over to his Triumph Bonneville chopper motorcycle, and wrapped the gun belt that held his holstered Colt Official Police revolver around the handlebars. Daryl drew the revolver, and opened the cylinder: six rounds were loaded in the chambers. Daryl closed the cylinder into the revolver's frame and holstered it.

"Stay safe," a familiar voice said.

Daryl turned around and saw Carol, wearing her cargo jacket, walking towards him.

"Nine lives, remember?" Daryl grinned.

Carol stood in front of Daryl and flashed that elfish smile that Daryl had grown to love.

"Got any requests while I'm out? Chocolates, books, a Garfield doll for your cell?" Daryl asked.

"Just come back," Carol answered plainly.

Daryl nodded and mounted his motorcycle.

Inside the Dodge Ram, Rick turned the truck's ignition and its engine rumbled. "Let's roll!" he shouted.

Tyreese in the bread truck, and John in the Chevy Silverado, turned the keys and the engines of their vehicles rumbled also. The Woodburians started to cheer again.

Daryl looked over his shoulder, nodded at Rick, and turned the key on his motorcycle's ignition and its engine roared to life. Daryl nodded at Carol and she smiled again and goodbye. Daryl rode his motorcycle downhill and past the open gate. Carol watched Daryl ride off until he vanished on the horizon and she stepped away from the convoy.

Rick put the Dodge Ram in drive, and as he drove downhill, Tyreese and John followed in their vehicles. The convoy drove through the open gate and the two sentries Michael and Charlie, worked the pulley system and shut the iron doors. Atop the courtyard, the cheering died down as the Woodburians and the prison group watched the convoy fade away. A few moments later the Woodburians broke up and went about their business while the prison group stayed and watched the empty road.


	10. Chapter 10

**CHAPTER 10**

The engine of Daryl's Triumph Bonneville chopper motorcycle roared as he flew down the empty, secondary road. The light rain hit his face and hair, his Navajo print poncho flew behind him like a comet's tail, and his Stryker Strykezone 380 crossbow was slung over his back. He rode past the occasional walker that staggered along the road, but when he spotted an abandoned vehicle or a crash that involved more than two cars he slowed down and swerved to avoid them.

Daryl was scouting for a dangerous but crucial mission: to resupply the prison with food, gasoline, and medicine from the El Dorado, a hotel and casino that opened outside Atlanta a few weeks before the world had gone to shit.

Rick was a mile behind Daryl, leading a convoy of three trucks, one of them was the bread truck that the Governor used as a "walker bomb" when he launched a surprise attack on the prison. The convoy stuck to the secondary roads to avoid the abandoned vehicles, wrecks, and the herds of walkers that plagued the highway; the secondary roads had the same dangers, but they were minor.

Daryl thought about the Latino gang he and Carol fought at the feed mill when they retrieved Merle's body. He knew there were more gangs—scavengers—out there. Would the group run into them on the way to—or from—El Dorado?

There was the possibility that there were survivors holed up at El Dorado; would they fight to keep what they have, or would they beg Rick to accompany the group back to the prison?

Like Hershel had warned Rick at the meeting, "A lot can happen in forty-eight hours."

In spite of all the risks, Daryl felt oddly happy. He was on his motorcycle (it was actually Merle's, but he'd basically inherited it), and speeding down a mostly empty road. Hell, if Rick had asked how he felt before leaving the prison, he'd have said he felt pretty goddamned optimistic.

Aside from riding the motorcycle again, the other reason for Daryl's cheerful attitude was Carol. He cared about that woman, and while his previous relationships with women were few and brief, he cared about her more than all of those other women put together.

Were those feelings love?

Daryl thought back to yesterday, when he and Carol were atop the courtyard's ruined guard tower. He concentrated on something to say, so despite a pounding headache he said the first thing that came to mind: "Thanks for joinin' me up here."

Carol lowered her binoculars and looked at Daryl, who must've looked redder than a tomato. "You're welcome," she said.

A moment later, Carol looked back at the tree line and raised her binoculars to her eyes again.

The memory ended, and Daryl slowed down his motorcycle and lowered his head in embarrassment. That was probably the shittiest line to start a conversation with a woman! He remembered his joke that it was so much easier for him to talk to women when he bought them a drink, and took them for a ride on his Triumph motorcycle (which was left at home when the world went to shit).

 _No!_ Daryl thought angrily. _After the life Carol had with that worthless piece of shit Ed, she deserves better than some white trash tryin' to impress her with booze and a chopper!_

Daryl raised his head and closed his eyes for a moment as the light rain sprinkled on his face. _Hell, what I need is a new approach. Maybe I should get a haircut, trim my goatee, and get myself a suit and tie; that ought to make a good impression!_

Daryl opened his eyes and laughed at the thought of getting cleaned up and wearing a suit. He wasn't a movie star, and with the shit he was dealing with, there wasn't time to start trying.

 _First, I'll find that one-eyed bastard that killed Merle, and carve him up like a Christmas ham. Then I can start buildin' a life with Carol._

Daryl smiled at the thought of his plan, then he worked the throttle; the motorcycle's engine roared and it sped down the road.

•••

Rick drove the Dodge Ram 1500 at a modest speed, the windshield wipers were on the intermittent setting, and there'd be a squeak after a full minute when the wipers would run across the windshield and wipe the light rain away. Rick had both hands on the wheel, and was looking straight ahead. The Glock 19 pistol with the Maglite suppressor was inside the open console, and The M4A1 rifle was slung behind the driver's seat. Beside Rick was Michonne, cradling her sheathed katana in her arms, and her Glock 19 pistol was atop the dashboard. Carl sat in the back seat, his battered Stetson hat, and his Beretta 92FS pistol lay by his side. Carl was looking out the rear passenger window, and when they drove past an abandoned car, a wreck, or a walker, he's rest his hand on the handle of his pistol in preparation for a sudden attack.

"Dad?" Carl asked.

Rick looked up at the rearview mirror. "Yes, Carl?"

"Is the CD case still in the truck?"

Rick nodded. "Yeah, I put it in the glove compartment after we secured the prison."

Carl looked at his father with pleading eyes. "Can you play one please?"

Rick glanced over his shoulder at Carl and looked at the road. "We've got to stay quiet, son. Sorry."

"Why?" Carl asked with a tinge of anger.

"It's so we can hear Daryl on the walkie-talkie," Rick explained.

Carl huffed in frustration and folded his arms across his chest. "At the level Daryl shouts, that won't be a problem."

Rick chuckled in amusement; Michonne chuckled too.

It stayed quiet in the Dodge Ram, and Carl started to think about Beth and her lovely singing voice. _I promised Beth I'd get her a guitar,_ he thought.

Carl looked away from the window and down at his boots. _An electric guitar would be cool, but Beth loves those stupid ballads,_ Carl thought. _I guess I'll have to get her an acoustic guitar._

Carl unfastened his seatbelt, turned around, and looked out the truck's rear window at the vast, empty truck bed. _There's plenty of room in the truck bed for a guitar_ , _or I could put it in the backseat with me._

Carl looked over his shoulder at his father, who didn't notice he had unbuckled his seatbelt.

"Hey, Dad," Carl said as he sat forward in his seat.

"Yes, Carl?" Rick asked.

"Can I bring a guitar back with us?"

Rick looked up at the review mirror and did a double take when he saw that Carl had unfastened his seatbelt. "Carl! What are you doing?!" he shouted as he looked over his shoulder at his son.

"Dad I was just—"

"Sit down and put that seatbelt on!" Rick ordered.

Carl slid back into his seat and buckled his seatbelt. Michonne glared at Rick disapprovingly, but stayed quiet.

"Damnit, Carl, you always keep your seatbelt on!" Rick shouted as he returned to watching the road. "Do you know how many times I rolled up on a car accident and saw one of the fatalities was a child?!"

"Drunk drivers aren't on the road anymore, Dad," Carl argued.

"No. But there're wrecks on the road, walkers, we could be ambushed…" Rick said as he gripped the wheel tightly. "If you get hurt, or shot, Hershel's not here to help you…"

Rick sighed wearily, and rubbed his eyes with his left hand. Carl and Michonne watched him with concern.

"I'm sorry, Dad," Carl said, regretting his disrespectful tone earlier.

"It's all right, Carl. Just…just be more careful," Rick answered as he continued to watch the road.

Carl lowered his head, Michonne looked over her shoulder at the upset boy, and then she looked at Rick, a moment later she looked straight ahead at the road. There was a vandalized car on the side of the road with its front windshield smashed and its doors and trunk wide open.

After a few minutes of silence Carl muttered, "Dad?"

"Yes?" Rick answered; his voice calm again.

"When we get to the casino, can…can I take a guitar?"

Rick blinked and looked over his shoulder at Carl in disbelief.

"You want to take a guitar back to the prison?" Rick asked with a twinge of amusement in his voice.

Carl looked up at his father and nodded. "Yeah. Is that all right?"

Rick chuckled and looked at Michonne; she looked at him and smiled.

"Are you getting bored of reading those comic books?" Rick asked as he returned to watching the road.

Carl mumbled in agreement. Honestly, he always enjoyed comic books, and the guitar was really for Beth.

"Well…learning how to play the guitar might not be a bad idea," Rick grinned. "I used to play the guitar when you were little, remember?"

"Yeah," Carl answered with fake enthusiasm. His father played—or at least tried to play—an acoustic guitar on the weekends. He was so bad at it even mom asked him to give up the hobby.

"Okay. Casinos usually had concerts for their guests. I'm sure we'll find a few guitars there."

"Cool!" Carl grinned, imagining himself handing a guitar to a joyful Beth.

"Maybe we should pick up some other musical instruments too, and form a prison band like they did at the end of the Blues Brothers," Michonne quipped.

Rick laughed at Michonne's joke, and Michonne smiled. "Who're the Blues Brothers?" Carl asked.

•••

The bread truck was in the middle of the convoy, its windshield wipers were on the high setting Tyreese sat behind the wheel and his Mossberg 500 shotgun was laying down in the cargo hold. Karen sat in the passenger seat, with her M4A1 rifle in her hands, and listened uncomfortably as the wipers ran back and forth.

"Is that really necessary?" Karen asked as she pointed at the windshield wipers.

"It's raining. I need to see the road clearly," Tyreese answered.

"Raining? This is drizzle! We could walk in this!"

"Not all the way to Atlanta," Tyreese said with a smile.

Karen huffed, moved the barrel of her rifle from her left shoulder to her right, and looked out the passenger window.

Tyreese noticed that Karen was seriously irritated by the noise of the windshield wipers and his smile faded away. "Uh, sorry," he muttered as he reached for the wiper lever and put it on the intermediate setting.

"Are we cool?" Tyreese asked.

Karen relaxed and smiled at Tyreese. "We're cool," she answered.

Tyreese blushed and looked straight ahead; an abandoned sedan was parked sideways in the center of the road, so he slowed down the bread truck, and went around it.

"Listen, I'm sorry if was a bitch earlier," Karen apologized, "but I don't understand why you always act like you're going to make things worse."

Tyreese shrugged. "Remember when I told you about my coach?"

Karen nodded.

"Another thing coach told me was: 'You can't afford to make a mistake on the job'."

"That's crazy," Karen said in disbelief. "Mistakes are a part of life."

"Yeah, but in football, when you make a mistake, it costs you. Make enough mistakes, and they'll cost the game." Tyreese shook his head. "I've got one job now: keep people alive, and I can't afford a single mistake."

"You're putting too much pressure on yourself," Karen said comfortingly. "You put up the new gate. Now, our people can go outside the cell block without having to keep an eye on that stupid car Rick used as a fill-in."

Tyreese smiled a little, but he kept watching the road. "Thanks, but I didn't do it alone."

"You might as well have. John and Henry are in their seventies; Greg, Alonso, and Eddie are in their fifties. If you weren't there to help them, they'd all would've had heart attacks!"

This time, Tyreeese laughed and looked at Karen. "Those guys deserve **some** credit, but thanks again."

Karen smiled. "Are all ex-football players as humble as you?"

"Eh, I used to have an ego, back in the day," Tyreese shrugged. "Best player on the high school football team, got a scholarship to a division II school, signed by the Falcons, but played just two years; man, that was a humbling experience. It'd be hard for anybody to have an ego after going through all of that."

"Maybe. But I'm glad you're with us," Karen said.

Tyreese looked at Karen again and smiled.

•••

The Chevy Silverado brought up the rear of the convoy, its windshield wipers were on the low setting. John sat behind the wheel. Juan sat in the passenger seat, holding his Remington 870 shotgun. Floyd and Sam sat in the back seats.

"That fucking Sheriff Andy Griffith almost beat me half to death yesterday," Sam grumbled as he touched the bruises on his face gingerly.

"I sympathize, Sam," Floyd said as he scratched his temple. "I spent thirty years with the United States Postal Service, and I survived dog attacks, heavy rains, blizzards, and union strikes, but I never had a cop put a gun to my head."

"I saved Rick's and his pals' lives from the walkers and he threatened to kick me out of the prison," John said before shaking his head in disgust. "You boys know what they say about good deeds."

Sam and Floyd grumbled in agreement, while Juan sat in the passenger seat uncomfortably. Floyd noticed the handyman's discomfort and patted him on the shoulder. "You okay, Juan?"

Juan looked over his shoulder at Floyd. "SÍ," he answered with a friendly nod.

Sam huffed contemptuously. "Of course you're okay, Juan. You haven't done anything to piss off Grimes."

"Not yet," Floyd quipped.

A chuckle rose out of John and Sam; Juan smiled nervously and looked out the passenger window, and his mind drifted back to that night in the woods a year ago.

•••

The Dodge Grand Caravan's headlights illuminated the dark, empty road ahead, as Juan sat nervously in the back seat with the Remington 870 shotgun across his lap, as Philip drove through the cold, night air. Philip had his AR-15 rifle slung over the driver's seat. Nick sat in the passenger seat with his own AR-15 rifle in his hands. Juan sat nervously in the back seat, with his Remington 870 shotgun lying across his lap.

Philip had returned to camp with the surprising news that he spotted a camp of survivors four or five miles away from their own; they were a small group, but they had plenty of supplies, so he gathered up Juan and Nick, and the three men climbed into the truck and reassured their loved ones that everything would be all right before they drove away and into the night.

"Have you thought about what you're going to say to these people, Philip?" Juan asked.

Philip glanced at Juan through the review mirror. "Hello," the group's leader answered as he resumed watching the road.

"That's it?" Juan asked incredulously.

"Isn't that how friendships start, Juan?" Philip retorted with a smile.

"Relax, Juan," Nick said as he looked over his shoulder at the handyman, "we're not thieves, we're not scavengers, and we're not biters; we're survivors, same as them. Hell, the second they see us they'll probably give us a big hug and a kiss."

Juan smiled at Nick nervously, and looked out the rear passenger window. _Madre Dios. Let this work out, Por favor,_ he thought.

Philip pulled over to the side of the road, put the truck in park, killed the engine, and looked at Nick and Juan, "we'll walk from here," he said.

Nick nodded and opened the passenger door, while Philip unslung his AR-15 rifle from the driver's seat; the two men opened the door to their side of the truck and climbed out. Juan looked left to right hurriedly, slid open the rear passenger door, and climbed out.

Philip, with his rifle slung over his shoulder, took his flashlight out of his jacket pocket, turned it on, and pointed it at the woods. "There," he said.

Juan looked at the spot illuminated by the flashlight and saw a rocky path leading uphill.

Philip started walking towards the rocky path, and a moment later Nick and Juan followed him.

"While I was scouting, I smelled the smoke from their campfire, so I climbed up the hill, and saw their camp," Philip explained, "I made my way around and found their trucks parked on this road. They're dirt bike enthusiasts, can you believe that? They come up here on the weekends and ride across these hills."

"So do you think they're going to wait out this plague up there?" Juan asked.

Philip turned around and looked at the Latino handyman. "Does it really matter?" he retorted.

Juan looked at Nick, and noticed the cheerful expression he showed on the drive to this dirt road was gone. Instead, he now had a cold expression and was watching Philip intently.

"All right, we'll go up there quietly and slowly. Keep your guns at the ready, with the safeties off and your fingers on the trigger."

"Que?" Juan asked in bewilderment.

Philip took a step forward towards Juan. "Are you prepared to kill?" he asked.

"I thought we were going to ask these people to join our group."

"We will, but no offense to Nick and his optimistic theory about being welcomed in with open arms, we have to be prepared for anything."

Juan looked at Nick; the other man was now looking at him…coldly. Juan felt like he was standing on a line, and if he stepped over it, he would never be the same again.

"Juan!" Philip whispered urgently.

A jolt ran through Juan's body and he looked at Philip. "Sí?" he whispered fearfully.

"Are you prepared to kill?" Philip repeated.

Beads of sweat ran down Juan's forehead. The shotgun in his hands felt as heavy as an anchor.

"Are you prepared to kill to protect Marianna?"

"Sí! I'm prepared to kill!" Juan answered.

Philp flashed his friendly smile and patted Juan on the shoulder. "Good," he said.

Philip turned around, unslung his rifle from his shoulder, and faced the dirt road. Nick ejected the magazine from his rifle's receiver, saw that it was fully loaded by the moonlight, and returned the magazine to the receiver. Juan took a deep breath and made the sign of the cross, his heavy shotgun in his sweaty hands.

The three men started to walk up the hill, with the beam from Philip's flashlight leading the way.

•••

"Hey, Juan!" John called out.

Juan blinked and turned to his left, and saw John looking at him bewilderedly.

"Are you okay?" John asked.

Juan looked over his shoulder and saw Floyd and Sam, sitting in the back seat, looking at him with the same puzzled look on their faces as John.

Juan looked back at John and answered, "SÍ, John. I'm okay."

"Are you sure?" John asked as he squint his eyes.

"SÍ," Juan answered.

"Well, you better stop daydreaming. I'd hate for you to mistake a girl walker for Jennifer Lopez, and roll down the window and ask her for a peck on the cheek."

Floyd and Sam chuckled at John's joke; Juan smiled good-naturedly and looked straight ahead. When his three comrades' laughter died down, Juan lowered his head, tightened his grip on the handguard to his shotgun, and thought of a desperate prayer. _Dios MÍo, I know I am damned to hell. I know too that I'm not worthy or your pity, but I beg you to protect Marianna and my people._

•••

The light rain had stopped hours earlier and the sun was sinking slowly in the purple sky when the roar of a motorcycle echoed along the clear section of highway that led towards the abandoned city of Atlanta.

Daryl slowed down his motorcycle and pulled over beside an exit. The heel of his Red Wing boot struck the kickstand, and he turned the key in the motorcycle's ignition. The loud engine died suddenly, and Daryl dismounted his motorcycle.

Daryl unslung his Stryker Strykezone 380 crossbow from his back and held the silent weapon at his side, while he grabbed the hem of his poncho with his left hand, and tossed it over his left shoulder like Clint Eastwood did before he'd draw his Colt Peacemaker and killed a few banditos in those Spaghetti Westerns. Daryl then held his crossbow at the ready and began walking up the highway while carefully watching the uncountable number of abandoned vehicles that were lined up on the other side. After a few minutes of walking, stopping and walking again, and watching and listening, Daryl was convinced the highway was clear.

Daryl turned around and began walking back to his motorcycle. He took the walkie-talkie clipped to his belt, brought it to his mouth, and pressed the talk button. "Rick, you copy?" he asked.

A moment later, Daryl released the talk button.

An electric squawk came out of the walkie-talkie, followed by Rick's voice. "I'm here, Daryl. Over."

Daryl pressed the talk button. "The highway's the same as we last saw it: one big ass parkin' lot. Over."

Daryl released the talk button again.

The electic squawk returned, followed again by Rick's voice. "How about the city? Over."

Daryl looked up the highway at the darkening, distant skyline of Atlanta: its skyscrapers blackened by the aftermaths of the napalm bombings; the window frames empty because the heat from the conflagration shattered the glasses. "It looks like shit," Daryl answered.

Daryl released the talk button, and waited for Rick's response.

"What about the El Dorado? Over."

Daryl turned around, looked beyond the exit sign, and at the vast parking lot and the modern age Aztec temple that stood on top of it. The El Dorado was bathed in the day's dying light, making its façade of white stucco and its horizontal rows of blue windows look like a beacon of hope.

 _I damn wish I'd met Carol before she married that abusive bastard Ed, and the world had gone to shit._ Daryl thought. _I would've rented a room at this casino for a weekend, and we'd spend the day's playin' craps and roulette, the evenin's watchin' a show_ (It would've bored Daryl to sleep), _and the night's havin' sex in our room_.

Daryl's heartbeat started to quicken as he imagined lying in bed with Carol after they had made love. She was curled up by his side, with her head on his shoulder, sleeping soundly, as he ran his hand up and down her arm slowly before drifting off to sleep as well.

"Daryl?!" An electronic voice shouted.

Daryl shook with surprise and looked left and right and realized he stood alone in the dark. He remembered he had been reporting to Rick, so he raised the walkie-talkie to his mouth and pressed the talk button.

"Yeah?" He spat.

"Goddamnit, Daryl, I've been shouting into this thing for over a minute! Michonne and I thought something happened to you!"

Daryl looked back at the El Dorado, the setting sun's rays had slid off the casino and were now on the dozens of cars remaining in the parking lot. For a few moments the images from his dream with Carol flashed through his mind: the two of them at the gambling tables, her dragging him to a show, and the two of them making love in their hotel room. Daryl tightened his grip on the walkie-talkie and pressed down hard on the talk button. "Nothin' happened," he said coldly.

"That's good. How about the El Dorado? Over."

"It's still here. Over."

"Thank God. We'll be there in a minute or two. Wait for us. Over."

Daryl didn't bother to reply to Rick. Instead, he clipped the walkie-talkie back onto his waist belt, reached for the poncho he'd thrown over his shoulder, and draped it over his chest. He then walked past his motorcycle, sat on the highway's guardrail, and placed his crossbow on his lap as he waited for Rick and the convoy to arrive. Daryl rubbed his hands together to fight off the approaching cold, and his rising anger that his dream of a wild and passionate weekend with Carol hadn't happened. The faint sounds of rumbling engines crept into his ears, and as the sounds grew louder, Daryl sat up and looked to his left to see the headlights of Dodge Ram 1500 as it led the convoy up the highway and come to a stop beside his motorcycle.


	11. Chapter 11

**CHAPTER 11**

Rick put the Dodge Ram 1500 in park, and killed the engine; he climbed out of the truck, unslung the M4A1 rifle from the driver's seat, and walked around the front towards his sullen scout and second-in-command. "Are you sure you're all right?" he asked.

Daryl remained seated on the highway's guardrail and grunted positively at Rick's question, but truthfully, he was still upset about the group's leader interrupting his daydream about a wild, lustful weekend with Carol at the El Dorado casino.

The sun was sinking behind the Atlanta skyline as Rick studied the El Dorado: About fifty vehicles remained in the parking lot; several of them had crashed near the lot's exit in an obvious attempt to escape. There was a large fountain in the casino's courtyard; the water had stopped running long ago. But what really caught Rick's attention were the dozens of walkers staggering about like shadows, and had noticed that live prey was now on the highway above them.

Michonne opened the Dodge Ram's passenger door and climbed out with her sheathed katana in hand. Carl put his battered Stetson hat on his head, opened the rear passenger door and climbed out, his Beretta 92FS pistol with its attached aluminum bat suppressor was in his hand.

The bread truck and the Chevy Silverado rolled up one behind the other and came to a stop behind the Dodge Ram.

Michonne slung her katana over her back as she walked over to Rick, Carl was by her side.

"Cool," Carl said in awe as he looked wide-eyed at the modern Aztec pyramid.

"Yeah, I remember the TV news saying it was going to be the grandest casino ever built in the U.S.," Rick said, as he took a second look at the El Dorado.

Michonne glanced down at Carl and smiled, amused that a child could still be awed by an architectural marvel.

The doors to the bread truck and the Silverado opened, and their occupants climbed out. The doors nearly shut in unison, and Tyreese, Karen, John, Juan, Floyd, and Sam walked towards Rick's small group. Daryl—now irritated by the sight of the six Woodburians—huffed angrily as he stood up from the guardrail and walked past Rick and Michonne to stand alongside Carl.

An impressed John whistled when he saw the darkening casino. "I saw pictures of the model on the internet; I was looking forward to losing some of my social security here once its doors opened."

Rick raised an eyebrow and looked at John. "You've been on the Internet?"

John glared at Rick. "Yes, I have," he spat, "I'm old, not a fossil."

"Well, you better not be too old to follow my orders," Rick said firmly.

"If you want me to be a team player, Rick, I'll step up to the plate and belt one out of the park," John replied as he adjusted his Atlanta Braves cap atop his head.

The two leaders glared at each other with ice cold intensity.

"Hey, are those…biters down there?" Sam asked as he pointed a shaky finger down at the parking lot.

The two groups (with the exception of Rick), looked down at the shadows staggering around the parking lot; a few moments later, their low growls rose up to the highway. Tyreese put his arm around Karen's shoulder, and she put her arm around his waist.

"Yeah, they're walkers," Daryl answered as he grinned at Sam. "You want to mosey down there and say 'Howdy'?"

Sam gulped, looked back at the walkers on the parking lot, and pulled the Country Gentleman hat down over his bruised face.

"What're we going to do?" Karen asked as she looked from John to Rick.

Rick looked over his left shoulder and looked at the sun, sinking between the Marriott Marquis and the SunTrust Plaza. "We've got three…five minutes before we're in total darkness. We've got to go down there, fight our way through the walkers, and get inside the casino."

"Oh, hell no!" Floyd shouted.

"I'm not going down there!" Sam cried as he shook his head.

"Shut the hell up before I throw your ass over the side," Daryl whispered angrily to Sam.

Sam bit down on his knuckles and closed his eyes, tears seeped out from between his eyelids.

"Daryl's right. They've spotted us. They could head our way any second," Michone said.

Carl began to tremble and the pistol in his hand felt heavy as a cannon. He took a deep breath to calm his nerves. Michonne looked down at Carl and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"I guess shooting them is out of question, huh, Rick?" John snapped.

"Yes, it is," Rick answered as he glared at John. "We'll have to take them hand-to-hand."

Michonne squeezed Carl's shoulder gently; the boy looked up curiously at the mysterious swordswoman. "I've got this," she nodded to him.

Carl blinked in confusion. "What?" he asked.

Michonne, pulled the hood of her cape over her dreadlocks, walked past Carl and Daryl, and entered the exit ramp.

Carl now realized what Michonne had meant and his eyes widened with fright. "No, Michonne!" he shouted.

Rick's pulse quickened at the sound of Carl's scream and he looked down at this son. When Rick saw that Carl was looking to his left, he looked in that direction too and saw Michonne walking down the exit ramp, with her sheathed katana hanging from her back and her hooded cape fluttered lightly behind her.

"Michonne! Come back! We need to make a plan first!"

"There's no time for that," Miconne answered calmly as she continued on her way.

"Fuck! I ain't lettin' her go it alone!" Daryl shouted as he swung his Stryker Strykezone 380 crossbow over his back and ran to his Triumph Bonneville chopper motorcycle.

"Goddamnit, Daryl, we need a plan!" Rick shouted.

Daryl ignored Rick; he mounted his motorcycle, turned the key, and the engine roared to life. He flicked the light switch, and the headlight shown a beam of light along the darkening exit ramp that led to the El Dorado.

Daryl looked over his shoulder at Tyreese and shouted, "Hey, Thor! How about puttin' that hammer to good use?!"

Tyreese'e eyes widened and he pointed at himself. "Me?" he replied in disbelief.

Daryl didn't bother to respond to the former pro football player. Instead, he reeved up his motorcycle, swiped the kickstand with his foot, and rode his motorcycle down the exit ramp slowly.

Michonne heard the approaching motorcycle and looked to her left as she continued walking down the exit ramp. Daryl rode up alongside her and nodded, Michonne nodded back, Daryl revved the motorcycle again and sped onto the parking lot.

The walkers on the parking lot growled angrily and hungrily. Michonne stepped onto the parking lot, reached over her shoulder, and unsheathed her katana. The last rays of sunlight caught the blade and a flash of bright light cut through the darkness.

Up on the highway, Tyreese watched as Michonne and Daryl prepared to confront the walkers; he then turned towards Karen. "What should I do?" he asked.

"You told me your only job now is to keep people alive, so…go help them," Karen answered.

Tyreese nodded, offered Karen his Mossberg 500 shotgun and she took it. Tyreese then drew the framing hammer hanging at his side, and ran towards the exit ramp. Karen looked on with pride.

Rick and Carl watched as Michonne and Daryl prepared to fight the walkers on the parking lot. "Dad, we've got to do something!" Carl urged worriedly.

"I know, son. We're the only ones with suppressors, so—"

"Any orders, General Westmoreland?" John asked sarcastically.

Rick looked to his right and saw John, standing nearby with his hand resting on the grip of his Colt M1911A1 pistol holstered by his side. Floyd, Sam, and Juan stood behind him; all three looked nervous.

Rick glared at John, walked over to him, and pointed a finger at him. "Yeah, I've got orders for you: get back in your vehicle, follow me down to the parking lot, and don't fire a shot. Understand?"

John glared at Rick for a few moments and said, "Perfectly."

Rick turned around and walked towards the Dodge Ram 1500. "Let's go, Carl," he said as he unslung the M4A1 rifle from his shoulder.

Carl glared at John and wrapped his finger around the trigger of his pistol as he ran over to the passenger side of the truck, opened the door, climbed inside, and closed it.

Rick opened the driver's side door, climbed inside, slung his rifle over the driver's seat, closed the door, and turned the key; the truck's engine rumbled to life, and Rick turned the headlight switch, and drove slowly down the exit ramp.

John watched angrily as Rick and Carl vanished from sight, then watched as Karen (with her own M4A1 rifle slung over her shoulder, and holding Tyreese's shotgun in her hand) ran to the bread truck, climbed in, started it, and followed them down the exit ramp.

"What're we going to do, John?" Floyd asked.

"Shut the fuck up. Follow me. And no shooting," John huffed angrily as he turned around and walked towards the Chevy Silverado.

Floyd, Sam, and Juan looked at each other nervously, and followed their leader.

•••

Daryl pointed his motorcycle's headlight at the approaching walkers so he and Michonne could see them clearly in the growing darkness. He turned the key, killing the motorcycle's engine, and glanced to his right and saw Michonne walk up alongside him with her katana at her side. "Don't get in front of my crossbow," he warned her.

"Got it," Michonne said as she raised her katana and held it with both hands.

Daryl dismounted from his motorcycle, unslung his crossbow from his back, and moved to his left as he raised the weapon to his shoulder and took aim at the approaching walkers; the first one to fill his iron sights was male and wore a bloody shirt and pants, and its left arm had been torn off.

Daryl squeezed the trigger.

THUNK!

The arrow struck the walker in its forehead; the dead walker froze for a moment, and then it fell onto its back.

Having killed his first walker on this food run, Daryl aimed the crossbow's barrel at the ground, slipped his foot into the stirrup, pulled the string back until it was cocked, and slipped his foot out of the stirrup. He held the crossbow in his hands, took an arrow from the quiver, and loaded it onto the flight groove.

Michonne took a few steps to her right so she could swing her katana without striking Daryl's motorcycle. A black female walker, that had once been an Atlanta police officer staggered towards her.

Michonne brought her katana down on the female walker's head.

SHUKK!

The katana sliced through the female walker's head and exited below its right ear. The dead female walker fell onto its left side and a moment later the right half of its skull and brain landed at its feet.

Daryl raised his crossbow to his shoulder again and aimed at a male walker who had chunks of flesh bitten off him like a chocolate Easter Bunny.

THUNK!

The arrow struck the half-eaten walker's forehead; it froze, fell to its knees, and collapsed onto its right side.

A skeleton walker with pieces of rotting flesh spread across its frame growled hungrily as it staggered towards Michonne, who shook her head with disgust and a moment later, swung her katana at the skeleton.

WHUKK!

The skeleton walker's skull burst like a piñata when the katana struck it; Michonne shut her eyes as bone, bits of flesh, dark blood, and brain matter flew everywhere. A moment later, the dead skeleton walker collapsed at Michonne's feet. Michonne took a few steps backwards, and opened her eyes and looked down to see the walker blood and remains hanging off her hooded cape.

"Oh, fuck! My bike!" Daryl cried.

Michonne looked over at Daryl and saw the shocked expression on his face; she then looked at his motorcycle, and saw the handlebars; the gun belt wrapped around them, the headlight, and front tire were covered in the skeleton walker's dark blood and brain matter. "Sorry," she shrugged.

Daryl cursed his breath as he faced the walkers and raised his crossbow to take aim; the walker that filled the iron sights this time was a male wearing a soiled business suit and had its tie wrapped loosely around its right hand; three fingers had been bitten off.

THUNK!

The arrow struck the business walker right between the eyes and it collapsed to the ground like it had slipped on a wet spot in the office hallway.

"Hey, wait for me!" a voice shouted from behind Michonne.

Michonne looked over her shoulder and saw Tyreese running down the exit ramp with his framing hammer in his hand. Michonne shook her head with contempt at Tyreese for finally coming down from the highway to help her and Daryl kill the walkers.

Tyreese ran onto the parking lot and continued running towards Michonne, who held her sword high in preparation to strike two walkers staggering towards her. Tyreese ran forward, and for a moment he felt like was back on the football field, about to sack the quarterback.

Tyreese brought his hammer down on an elderly male walker that wore a medical ID bracelet on his left wrist.

KRAK!

The hammer shattered the top of old male walker's head and penetrated the brain. Tyreese pulled the hammer out of the dead walker's skull, and a stream of dark blood along with bits of brain matter flew out afterwards. The dead walker fell backwards and landed on the ground with a light thud.

The second walker was a young Latina, and it wore an open blouse that revealed a bra and a bite mark on its right hip. Michonne simply thrust her katana at the walker's face.

SHUKK!

The point of the katana went through the female Latino walker's mouth and exited the back of its head along with a stream of blood and bits of brain matter. The dead Latina walker froze with its limbs stretched out at its sides, and Michonne stepped forward, placed her left hand on the dead walker's shoulder, and used it as leverage to pull her sword free, and the dead Latina walker collapsed to the ground.

"Damn," Tyreese gasped in shock as Michonne shook the blood and gore off her blade.

Michonne glared up at the former NFL player. "You better get used to this," she advised.

"Keep movin'! Vamos!" Daryl shouted.

Michonne and Tyreese looked to their left and saw that Daryl was ahead of them slightly; he had his foot on the chest of one of the walkers he had killed, and he bent down, grabbed the arrow sticking out of the walker's forehead, and pulled it free.

Michonne looked forward and the beam coming from the headlight on Daryl's motorcycle showed that the rest of the walkers that seemed so distant a few moments ago, were now staggering closer and growling louder for live flesh.

Michonne held her katana in a combat stance and glanced at Tyreese. "Come on!" she shouted.

"Yeah, but…" Tyreese stammered.

Michonne was already running forward, while Daryl was retrieving his second arrow. Tyreese took a deep breath, tightened his grip on his hammer, and ran to catch up.

•••

The sun had set behind the Atlanta skyline, and the dim light of the moon and the stars filled the night's sky. Rick drove the Dodge Ram 1500 down the dark exit ramp slowly as he and Carl watched their friends ran up the lane to fight the next group walkers.

"Look over there, Dad!" Carl shouted as he pointed excitedly.

Rick squint his eyes and saw the shadowy images of a dozen walkers staggering out of a row of parked vehicles on the left side of the parking lot.

"Are we going to shoot them?" Carl asked, holding up his Beretta M92 with attached aluminum bat suppressor.

Rick shook his head. "No," he answered.

"What?!" Carl cried in disbelief. "Then what are we going to do?!"

Rick grinned and looked at his son. "Put your seatbelt on, Carl."

Carl's eyes widened when he realized what his father was planning. "Oh, shit," he said as he placed his gun in the passenger door well, and buckled his seatbelt.

"And don't curse," Rick ordered.

Rick drove the Dodge Ram 1500 onto the parking lot and stepped on the gas pedal. The engine roared as the truck sped past Daryl's motorcycle and into the next lane. The walkers had staggered past the row of parked vehicles stopped in their tracks when they were caught in the headlights of the speeding truck.

Rick gritted his teeth and tightened his grip on the steering wheel until his knuckles were bone white.

The speeding truck slammed into the walkers like a bowling ball into a rack of ten pins.

THUD! THUD! THUD!

Walkers flew back several feet, or they went flying over the truck's hood, its cab and landed in its wake, or they were knocked to the ground and made sickening popping sounds as their bodies, limbs, and heads were crushed under the truck's wheels.

•••

In the lane to the right, Daryl (who had recovered his three arrows), Michonne, and Tyreese stopped moving forward and watched as Rick drove the truck through the group of walkers that were approaching on their blind spot; the walkers in front of them surprisingly stopped moving and watched as the truck rolled through their comrades too.

"Good job, Rick," an impressed Michonne whispered.

"Where are those Woodbury motherfuckers?!" Daryl wondered angrily as he turned around to look up at the highway.

"Uh, they're on their way…I think," Tyreese answered, looking up at the highway too.

Daryl snorted in contempt and ran back to his motorcycle. "Well, I'm gettin' my bike before Sgt. Rock and Easy Company crush it!"

Michonne watched Daryl for a moment, and then she turned around and saw the walkers in front of her and Tyreese had gotten over Rick's surprise attack and growled hungrily at her and Tyreese. "Get ready," she told the former NFL player.

Tyreese faced the approaching walkers and took a breath to strengthen his resolve. The closest walker was a male that's mouth and hands were covered in dry blood. Tyreese brought his hammer down on the walker's head.

KRAK!

The hammer smashed the top of the walker's head like a plate, and destroyed the brain underneath it. The dead walker fell and when its head hit the ground, it broke open and its crushed brain shot out in pieces.

A male walker snapped its jaws at Michonne like a mad dog. Michonne stood her ground and brought her katana down on the walker's head.

THROK!

The katana cut through the top of the male walker's head and came to a stop at the bridge of its nose. The dead walker fell to its knees, so Michonne placed a foot on the walker's shoulder for leverage and pulled her katana out of the walker's split head. Michonne took her foot off the walker, and it hit the ground face first.

"Fuck," Daryl grumbled as he looked at the walker blood and brain mater on the handlebars of his motorcycle. Daryl stepped over to the saddlebags, and stuck his recovered arrows inside one of them; a moment later he heard an engine start on the highway, and he looked up to see Karen driving the bread truck down the exit ramp slowly. "It's about damn time," he grumbled.

Daryl slung his crossbow over his back, and then he reached into his back pocket, pulled out the rag he used to clean off his arrows, and used it to clean off the motorcycle's headlight and handlebars; he left the soiled rag onto the clean handlebars, then he grabbed the handles, swiped the motorcycle's kickstand with his foot, and walked forward while pushing his motorcycle alongside him.

•••

"Wow! Did you see Michonne kill that walker, Dad?" Carl asked excitedly.

Rick looked and saw a walker on its knees and Michonne pulling her katana out its head like she would a kitchen knife through a sliced tomato. "Uh, I'm afraid I missed it, Carl," he admitted.

"Dad, look!" Carl shouted as he pointed ahead.

Rick looked at the direction Carl was pointing: it was about where the casino's fountain would be, and there were shadows shuffling into the beams of light cast by the truck's headlights.

"Hold on, Carl," Rick ordered as he stepped on the truck's gas pedal again.

Rick sped the Dodge Ram along the upper half of the lane, and then he spun it towards the right and through a gap in the parked vehicles. Michonne and Tyreese leapt back in surprise as the Dodge Ram cut in front of them and sped towards the walkers staggering towards them. The new walkers froze in place just like their comrades in the opposite lane did earlier.

THUD! THUD! THUD! THUD! THUD!

The Dodge Ram ran through and over the walkers; Rick drove the truck around the water fountain in the courtyard's center and slammed his foot on the break. He and Carl sat in the truck's cab and looked out the truck's window's cautiously.

They saw no walkers standing on the courtyard.

Rick put the truck in park, turned off the headlights, killed the engine, and took the keys out of the ignition. "Wait here," he ordered Carl.

Carl looked at his father and nodded.

Rick reached into the truck's open console and took out his Glock 19 pistol and attached Maglite suppressor; he opened the driver's side door, climbed out, and pointed his pistol into the moonlight.

There were no more walkers on the courtyard.

Rick climbed into the truck's cab, looked at Carl, and said, "Clear."

Carl nodded, reached into the passenger door well, took out his Beretta 92FS pistol with attached aluminum bat silencer; he opened the passenger door, climbed out, and shut the door behind him.

Rick reached for his M4A1 rifle slung over the driver's seat; he unslung the rifle, climbed out of the truck, and shut the driver's side door, at the same moment Carl ran around to the driver's side and stood beside him.

"Rick!" Michonne shouted from behind him and Carl.

Rick and Carl turned around and saw Michonne and Tyreese running onto the courtyard.

"Are you both all right?" Michonne asked as she pulled down her hood.

Rick looked down at Carl, who shrugged like they were deciding what fast food chain they were going to for lunch. "We're fine," Rick answered as he looked at Michonne. "What about you two?"

A nervous Tyreese replied with a shaky thumbs-up. Michonne looked down at her hooded cape, and saw it was still caked with the dark blood and fragments of the skeleton walker she had killed earlier. "It's not my blood," she answered.

"I thought not," Rick retorted with a grin.

A beam of light hit the group suddenly; they spun around, shielded their eyes, and saw a figure walking towards them while pushing a motorcycle alongside him.

"Ya'll want to stay out here and tell ghost stories, or are we gettin' the hell inside that damn casino?" Daryl asked as he turned off his motorcycle's headlight and walked onto the courtyard.

Rick handed his pistol to Carl; then he slung his M4A1 rifle over his back, reclaimed his pistol, and looked at the parking lot to see the bread truck and the Chevy Silverado slowly headed towards them. "As soon as John and the others join us," he answered.

Daryl swiped his motorcycle's kickstand down onto the courtyard, let go of the motorcycle's handles, and bent down to retrieve the three used arrows he placed inside the saddlebags. "We should've left 'em in Woodbury, pickin' their noses," he grumbled.

Tyreese took an aggressive step towards Daryl. "Hey, redneck. My sister, Karen and I are with that group!"

Daryl looked Tyreese over and snorted in contempt. "Yeah, **you've** been a **big** help."

"You son of a bitch!" Tyreese shouted as his eyes flared with anger and he raised his hammer over his head.

"No!" Rick shouted as he lunged for Tyreese's arm and somehow managed to pull it down to the former NFL player's side.

Daryl didn't even flinch at Tyreese's attempted attack.

"Stop it…the both of you!" Rick ordered as he looked up at Tyreese and over his shoulder at Daryl. "We're here for the supplies! If either of you can't agree with that, you'll stay out here and guard the vehicles!"

Tyreese nodded bashfully. Daryl took the soiled rag from his motorcycle's handlebars and began to wipe one of the used arrowheads clean.

The bread truck and the Dodge Silverado drove onto the courtyard; their headlights and engines were switched off and their occupants climbed out with their weapons.

John drew his Colt M1911A1 pistol and walked over to Rick and the prison group. John's own Woodbury group followed behind him.

The two leaders glared at each other for a moment. "What now?" John asked.

"We go inside," Rick answered as he pointed towards the El Dorado's main entrance.

Rick looked down at Carl and gave him a stare that reminded his son to stay by his side. Carl looked up at his father and nodded.

Rick looked at Michonne, who unsheathed her katana and nodded. Rick looked at Daryl, who took a moment from loading the cleaned arrows into the crossbow's quiver to nod, too.

"Let's go," Rick said as he held his Glock 19 pistol with Maglite suppressor and began to move forward slowly.

Carl flicked the safety to his Beretta 92FS pistol to the "off" position, and took a few quick steps to catch up with his father.

Michonne held her katana low and at her side, and started walking forward slowly.

Daryl loaded the last clean arrow into the crossbow's quiver and dropped the soiled rag to the ground. He slung his crossbow over his shoulder and glared at Tyreese. "After you," he quipped as he gestured towards the El Dorado.

Tyreese grumbled but slid his framing hammer into its holder; he took the Mossberg 500 shotgun from Karen and began walking forward. Karen gave Daryl a puzzled look as if she wondered what happened to make the two men enemies, and walked alongside the former NFL player with her M4A1 rifle at the ready.

Daryl watched Tyreese and Karen follow Rick, Carl, and Michonne; then he looked at John. "Saddle up. Lock and load," he quipped.

"Don't give me any shit, Dixon. I served my country," John spat.

"Yeah, I know. You remind me every fuckin' chance you get."

John snorted in contempt and turned around to face Floyd, Sam, and Juan. "We're in one hell of a fix, boys. First, we've got a sheriff's deputy from some backwoods town leading us; and second, we've got Merle's baby brother sniffing out trouble for him to lead us into!"

Sam chuckled nervously with his Beretta 92FS pistol in hand. "No shit. Maybe we were better off with the Governor!"

"And if your chicken-livered ass was with the Governor, he'd have shot if off along with your other pals," Daryl retorted as he glared at Sam.

Sam turned pale and pulled the brim of his slouch hat down over his face.

Juan looked down at the ground and his heavy Remington 870 shotgun dangled at his side as he remembered the night he followed the Governor up the hill to greet the camp of survivors.

"Hey, what's going on back there?" Rick called from the main entrance.

John glared at Daryl one last time and looked at his group. "Come on," he grumbled as he gestured with his hand.

Daryl watched as John and the four Woodburians walked past, then he turned towards his motorcycle. Before leaving the prison, he'd wrapped his gun belt around the motorcycle's handlebars, and inside the holster was his Colt Official Police revolver. Daryl thumbed off the holster's strap, drew the revolver, and placed it against the small of his back. Daryl then unslung his crossbow off his shoulder, and held the weapon at the ready as he walked forward cautiously to rejoin the others outside the closed doors of the El Dorado.


	12. Chapter 12

**CHAPTER 12**

The prison group and the Woodbury group stood behind Rick as he crouched in front of one of the 8 glass doors that made up the front entrance to the El Dorado. He moved his Glock 19 pistol with the attached Maglite suppressor to his left hand, put his right hand over his eyes and leaned forward to peer into the casino. Beyond the class doors was a vestibule, and on its floor was a green mat with a golden Aztec pyramid printed on its center, and below the pyramid was the legend in black, bold words: THE EL DORADO.

Rick strained his eyes and looked beyond the vestibule. There was a small staircase, and above it was darkness.

"Do you see anybody, Dad?" Carl whispered as he stood behind his father.

Rick stared straight ahead for a few minutes and moved back from the glass door. "No," he answered.

Michonne knelt down beside Rick while the tip of her katana touched the ground. "Do you think the alarm was set?" she asked.

"Most likely; the doors aren't barricaded," Rick answered.

"You mean…somebody could be in there?" Floyd asked, as his hand holding the Beretta 92FS pistol began to shake.

Rick looked over his shoulder at Floyd, and the retired postal worker gulped in fear. Everyone had considered the possibility of encountering survivors inside the El Dorado, but now they would soon find out. The prison group looked determined, but with the exception of John, the Woodbury group looked nervous.

"Shit," Tyreese said angrily as he moved the safety switch of his Mossberg 500 shotgun to the "off" position and narrowed his eyes to see if a figure was approaching the front entrance. "What the hell are we going to do?"

"I say we leave!" Sam said nervously. "We don't have to tell the others the truth! We can say the casino burned down, or a herd forced us to go back!"

"We can't do that!" Carl shouted at the frightened man. "Everybody at the prison is counting us!"

"The adults are talking!" Sam spat at Carl.

"Damn right. So shut the fuck up!" Daryl ordered as he glared at Sam.

Sam lowered his head quickly, and Carl smiled at Daryl in appreciation. Rick couldn't repress a grin as he listened to his second-in-command stand up for his son, and kept a so-called soldier in line.

"Stay or go. It's your call, Rick," Michonne said.

"We're staying," Rick announced as he looked at Michonne. Rick then looked over his shoulder at Carl. "Everybody at the prison is counting on us," he smiled.

Carl smiled at his father.

"So…how do we get inside?" Karen asked.

Rick looked the 8 glass doors over and the scratched the stubble on his face. "Well, we could go around the casino; see if the service bay is open."

"Is the damn door even locked?" John asked.

"If the alarm is set, that means the door is locked, too.

John holstered his Colt M1911A1 pistol, leaned over Rick, and wrapped his fingers around the door handle.

Rick looked up at John and raised his hands to signal a stop. "Hey, wait a—"

John pulled on the door five times in rapid succession, but it didn't budge. "It's locked," he announced as he took his hand away from the door handle.

Rick looked at the door and wiped a hand down his face. "Thank you for confirming that…and for making all that noise," he grumbled.

"Hey, Rick. If rattling that door brought a herd down on us…I'm confident your brilliant, tactical mind would've thought of a plan that would save us all!" John quipped.

Rick stood up, and adjusted the M4A1 rifle slung over his shoulder as he turned around and glared at John. Michonne stood up too and glared at John, so did Carl and Daryl. The Vietnam veteran couldn't handle Rick and the prison group glaring at him so he shifted his posture.

Michonne looked back at the glass doors and peered inside. "Do you see an alarm system, Rick?" she asked.

Rick put his right hand over his eyes and peered into the vestibule again; this time he looked left and right for the flashing red light of an active alarm system. After a few minutes Rick huffed in frustration and tapped the Maglite suppressor that was attached to his Glock 19 pistol against his left leg lightly. "This place must have the latest security system, nothing like the ones I saw on the job in King County."

"So…you're saying…we came all this way…for nothing?" Floyd asked, the fear remaining in his voice.

"I didn't say that," Rick answered, still looking straight ahead.

"Me and Tyreese can check the back and see if there's an unlocked door or a window," Karen offered.

Rick shook his head. "No thanks, Karen. We shouldn't split up in the dark."

"Which brings us back to the lady's first question: 'How do we get inside?'" John asked, glaring at Rick again.

Rick looked over the 8 glass doors as he resumed taping the Maglite suppressor against his left leg as he thought if the alarm system was on or not.

Daryl slung his Stryker Strykezone 380 crossbow over his back and patted Tyreese on the shoulder. "Hey, give me that shotgun," he said.

"Say what?" Tyreese replied.

Daryl took the Mossberg 500 from Tyreese's hands and walked over to one of the glass doors.

Rick caught a blur of movement from the corner of his left eye and turned towards that direction to see Daryl with a shotgun in hands. "Daryl, no!" he shouted with his arms raised to signal a stop.

Daryl moved the shotgun's safety to the "on" position, twirled the weapon so its butt was facing forward, and thrust it at one of the glass doors with all his might.

CRAAASSSHHH!

The glass shattered into hundreds of tiny shards and fell onto the fancy green rug. Rick, the prison group, and the Woodbury group threw their arms over their heads, crouched down, and shut their eyes as they waited for the alarm to ring loudly.

Instead all they heard was absolute silence.

Daryl twirled the shotgun again so he could hold it properly by its grip, and lowered the shotgun to his side; he then leaned into the shattered doorframe, looked down at the small pile of glass shards on the rug.

Rick and the group rose to their feet, put their arms down to their sides, and looked at Daryl with shock.

Daryl stepped back onto the courtyard and turned around to face Tyreese. "Hey," he called out.

Tyreese moved his head slightly at the sound of Daryl's voice and looked straight at the redneck.

Daryl raised the shotgun slightly and tossed it at Tyreese, who caught the shotgun with both hands.

"Gracias," Daryl said.

Rick looked from Daryl, to the small pile of shattered glass, and back to Daryl. "Goddamnit…" he muttered in disbelief.

"You stupid, inbred redneck!" John shouted as he ran forward and shoved Daryl against the doorframe. "Are you trying to get us all killed?"

Daryl's right hand un-sheathed the Busse Team Gemini knife at his side, and he held the blade's point to John's throat.

"Back off, old man," Daryl warned coldly.

The two groups quietly watched the tense standoff between Daryl and John. A few moments later Floyd took a deep breath and aimed his Beretta 92FS pistol at Daryl. A flash of light and a gust of wind blew in front of Floyd's face and he felt the sharp blade of Michonne's katana against his throat.

"Drop it," Michonne ordered.

Floyd dropped the pistol and Michonne kicked it into the darkness.

Sam, Tyreese, Karen, and Juan turned their attention to Michonne holding her katana to Floyd's throat, while Carl watched them as he slipped his finger around the trigger of his Beretta 92FS pistol; Rick watched as Michonne and Carl covered the Woodburians and returned to watching the standoff between Daryl and Floyd.

Daryl and Floyd continued their standoff until the Vietnam veteran smirked and took a step back. "You've got balls, Dixon. We could've used you in 'Nam."

Daryl snorted and sheathed his knife. "Yeah. Maybe we would've won."

Michonne withdrew her katana from Floyd's neck, and the retired postal worker put a hand to his throat and fell to his knees. Tyreese, Karen, Sam, and Juan relaxed, so Carl slipped his finger off his pistol's trigger.

Rick gave John and angry glance and walked over to Daryl. "What were you thinking?" he asked.

"Noise attracts walkers," Daryl answered as he unslung his crossbow from his back. "If you lived here, wouldn't you just lock the doors and leave the alarm off?"

Rick put his hands on his hips and shook his head; he had been running a dozen theories through his mind whether the alarm was not, but Daryl had the simplest theory and proved it right. "No, I probably wouldn't," Rick answered with a grin.

Rick faced Carl and saw he was standing next to Michonne. Rick gestured with his left hand for Carl to stand at his side. Carl nodded and ran over to him eagerly.

"All right, we're going inside the casino," Rick told everyone, "stay together, stay quiet. Daryl has a crossbow and Carl and I have suppressors, so if there're any walkers inside, we'll see them first and put them down. Just in case, keep your guns out and your fingers off the triggers; shoot only if you have no choice. If there're any survivors inside, I'll do the talking. Any questions?"

Floyd raised a hand.

"What is it, Floyd?"

"I lost my gun," Floyd whined as he pointed a thumb towards the direction Michonne had kicked his pistol.

"And I saw why you lost your gun," Rick answered coldly. "You can pick it up in the morning, Floyd. Until then, stick with us. And if you ever aim a gun at one of my people again, I'll kill you myself."

Floyd shivered with fear; so did Sam. John glared at Rick. Juan blinked in shock.

Rick dug into his jacket's left pocket, took out his small Maglite flashlight, and pointed it into the vestibule; he pressed the "on/off" button and a beam lit a path up the small staircase. "Ready?" he asked Daryl.

"Just go behind that old bastard," Daryl said as he nodded at John. "I don't want him pullin' a John Wilkes Booth."

"You've got it," Rick said.

Daryl's left hand dug into his leather biker vest, took out a small flashlight, pressed the "on/off" button, and aimed the beam of light into the vestibule. Daryl walked inside the El Dorado, aiming his crossbow from his hip.

Rick looked at John and gestured for him to follow. John grumbled, drew his pistol, and followed Daryl.

•••

The beams from Daryl's and Rick's flashlights rolled slowly across the casino's dark, vaulted lobby: the walls had murals of the Aztecs' daily life on them. The reception desk with a granite top was along the left wall and at either end of it stood tall, stone statues of Aztec warriors. Opposite the desk were five pairs of elevator doors, and they had the profile of an Aztec temple carved into them. In the center of the lobby was a tall palm tree. Sofas, chairs, and round tables were placed strategically on the marble floor; across the lobby was a vaulted doorway and to its right was a staircase carved from stone and on the second floor was a stone railing that wrapped around the lobby's walls.

Daryl stopped walking; a moment he sank to one knee and raised his left arm to signal a stop. John, Rick, and Carl followed his instructions.

Daryl looked over his shoulder at Rick and gestured to the vaulted doorway past the reception desk: there was light reflecting off the archway.

Rick put his left hand on Carl's shoulder. "Daryl spotted a light," he whispered.

Carl's eyes widened. "So there **are** people in here?" he asked excitedly.

"Maybe. But we don't know if they're good or bad. Until I find out, you're staying here with Michonne."

"But Dad—"

"Quiet!" Rick hushed.

Four flashlight beams roamed across the dark lobby just as Daryl's and Rick's flashlights had done earlier. Rick looked over his shoulder and saw Michonne—with her katana in one hand, and a flashlight in the other—step inside the El Dorado; Tyreese, John, and Sam wielded the other three flashlights. The unarmed Floyd was behind Sam, his eyes wide and following the beam of his fellow coward's flashlight.

Michonne walked over to Rick and Carl; she knelt down beside them.

"Daryl spotted light coming from the room on the left; he and I are going to check it out," Rick whispered. "I need you to stay here, and watch Carl and the others."

Michonne nodded.

Rick looked at Carl and saw the anger on his son's face. Rick sighed wearily and stood up to run over to Daryl's side. Daryl pressed the "on/off" button of his flashlight, the beam disappeared, and he placed the flashlight in his leather biker vest's pocket. Daryl looked at Rick, who nodded in approval, and Daryl held his crossbow with both hands and ran to the left side of the vaulted doorway; he waited a moment, and nodded for Rick to follow.

Rick repeated Daryl's actions with his own flashlight, and held his Glock 19 pistol with both hands as he ran towards the right side of the vaulted doorway; he put his back to the wall, and the M4A1 rifle slung over his back scratched against it. Rick looked over at Daryl, who nodded. Rick swung his upper body into the room, and aimed his pistol high, while Daryl stepped underneath the doorframe, dropped to one knee, and aimed low with his crossbow.

The room was the El Dorado's tavern: all its lights were on, and the Aztec murals appeared on its walls, too. A square bar with a granite top was in the center of the room, and it was littered with newspapers. Over the bar were large flat screen TVs and the one facing the doorway was playing a movie with the pause option on. Rick remembered that he and Lori watched it a few years ago because Carl wanted to see it. It was _The Fast and the Furious_ , and they both agreed Carl was too young to see it.

Rick lowered his pistol, walked over to the bar, and picked up one of the newspapers. It was the _Atlanta Journal-Constitution_ , and the headline read: LA SWARMED, and featured a birds' eye photograph of a giant herd of walkers staggering through the streets of Los Angeles, CA. Rick put the newspaper back on the marble bar top and picked up another one. This time it was _USA TODAY_ and the headline read: THE SEARCH FOR A CURE, and featured a photograph of a group of scientists (a few of them appeared tired) with clipboards in their hands, looking down at a computer screen. Rick put the paper down, rested his pistol atop the other newspapers, lowered his head, and closed his eyes.

 _That's what was happening when I was in a coma,_ he thought. _When Shane got Lori and Carl out of King County. When Jenner said his co-workers at the CDC began to 'opt out'._

"Rick," Daryl whispered.

Rick turned around, and saw Daryl staring down at a sofa that was set beside the arched doorway. The sofa matched the ones in the lobby, and lying atop it was a pillow, a folded comforter, a remote control, and a half-empty bottle of water along with a plate with breadcrumbs sprinkled on it; an AR-15 rifle was propped against the wall beside the sofa.

Daryl looked at Rick and whispered, "The can."

Rick turned to the right and saw the two separate doors to the ladies room and the men's rest room. Rick's left hand slid along the dozens of newspapers until it touched the handle of pistol; Rick turned his head to the left, picked up the pistol, and aimed it at the men's room door. Daryl had already swung his crossbow up to his shoulder and aimed it at the men's room door.

From behind the men's room door a toilet flushed, followed moments later by the sound of running tap water.

The sound of the tap water suddenly stopped, the men's room door slowly opened, and a young black man in slacks and a button down shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms stepped out.

"Freeze!" Rick shouted.

The young black man froze and his eyes widened at the sight of Rick, aiming a Glock 19 pistol with a Maglite suppressor at him. "Oh, fuck," he gasped.

"Put your hands up!" Rick ordered.

The young man didn't move.

"Put your hands up!" Rick repeated.

"Don't kill me, man!" the young man cried.

"Dad!" Carl shouted from the lobby.

Rick looked over his shoulder. "Stay back!" he ordered.

"I've got him!" Michonne replied.

"Get your goddamn hands up!" Daryl ordered.

The young man turned his head towards Daryl. "Don't kill me!"

"What the hell's going on in there?!" John shouted from the lobby.

Rick growled in anger at John's interference and took a step forward. "Put your hands up!"

The young man put his hands up.

"On your knees!"

The young man fell to his knees.

"Put your hands on your head!"

The young man put his hands on his head.

Rick took his Glock 19 by its frame and offered it to Daryl, who swung his Stryker Strykezone 380 crossbow over his back, took the pistol, and aimed it at the young man. Rick walked behind the young man and frisked him for weapons.

"We've…we've got food and water. Take what you want and go," the young man cried.

Rick moved the M4A1 rifle that was slung over his back slightly, opened the handcuff pouch attached to his gun belt, and took out what police departments across the United States called "the bracelets".

"Calm down. I'm a cop," Rick said as he snapped one handcuff onto the young man's right wrist, and brought his arm down to the small of his back.

The young man stopped crying and looked over his shoulder as Rick took his left wrist, and brought it down to the small of his back. "You're…you're a cop?" he asked in disbelief.

"Yeah," Rick answered before taking the young man's left wrist, bringing it down to the small of his back, and snapping the last handcuff on him.

"You don't look like a cop."

Rick froze for a moment, and then he looked down at his jacket and jeans. "Well, it's been a year since I stopped wearing the uniform," he shrugged.

The young man looked at Daryl. "If you're a cop, who's this guy?" he asked.

Daryl snorted in contempt and lowered the Glock 19. "I'm William Fuckin' Tell," he answered as he thumbed at the crossbow slung over his back.

Rick slipped a hand under the younger man's left arm and pulled him to his feet. Rick nodded at Daryl, and Daryl turned faced the arched doorway, put his fingers thumb and index finger in his mouth, and whistled.

A few moments later Michonne and Carl led the two groups into the tavern. Everyone except for Michonne and John gasped in surprise at the sight of another survivor.

Rick pulled up a chair on the side of the bar. "Sit down," he said.

The young man sat down and looked at the group and then at Rick.

"John, take Juan and sweep the room next to the elevators," Rick ordered.

"Hey, I've got some questions for this guy!" John shouted as he pointed at the young man.

Rick shot a glare at John. "Go," he said firmly.

Juan patted John on his shoulder, and the Vietnam veteran huffed, threw his hands up in frustration, and he stomped out of the tavern with Juan following him.

•••

"Fuck that goddamn, Mayberry cop!" John grumbled as he stomped into the dark, vaulted room beside the elevators. John had his Colt M1911A1 pistol in one hand, and a flashlight in the other.

"Què? Where's Mayberry?" Juan asked as he walked slowly beside John with his Remington 870 shotgun in his hands.

"Forget it," John replied as he turned around and moved the beam of his flashlight along the walls. "Where's the goddamn light switch?"

The beam of light soon fell on the two light switches; John holstered his pistol, stomped over to the light switches, and slammed them down with his hands.

The ceiling lights came on and John turned around to see rows of slot machines. In the center of the room was a large clay pot with a cactus planted inside it. Beside the cactus were two large stone statues of Aztec priests. On the left wall were two elevators, and on the right wall was the cashier cage.

"There's no one here," Juan said as he lowered his shotgun.

"No shit, Sherlock," John quipped as he walked back into the dark lobby and began moving his flashlight along its walls in search of the lobby's light switch.

•••

"Who are you?" Rick asked the young man.

"Amare," the young man answered. "Amare Tatum."

"Amare Tatum," Rick repeated with a nod. "I'm Rick Grimes. I was a sheriff's deputy for King County.

"Cool," Amare said, as his fear gave way to nervousness. "I was a first year ADA for Fulton County."

"You said 'we've' earlier. How many are in your group?"

Amare blinked. "Twenty-five. Twenty-five people."

Rick glared at Amare for a few moments. "Don't bullshit me, Amare. How many?"

Amare sighed and lowered his head in defeat. "Five."

"All right. Now, I want you to know we don't want to hurt anybody. We're just here for supplies. I didn't think there'd be people holed up in this casino, so this is on me. Where's your group?"

The lobby's lights went on, making everyone in the tavern turn around and look out the arched doorway. A few moments later, John (who was putting his flashlight inside his jacket pocket) walked into the tavern and glared at Rick; Rick ignored him and looked back at Amare.

"Where's your group?" Rick repeated.

"The penthouse," Amare answered. "If you're going to live in a casino, might as well live in style," he then chuckled nervously.

Rick saw a wireless phone standing on its cradle behind the bar. Rick went around the bar, picked up the phone, and walked out of the bar. "Does this phone still work?" he asked.

"Yeah," Amare answered, "you can call any room in the casino. Outside the casino, that's another story."

"Does your group have a leader?"

"Yeah," Amare frowned, "a hotshot gambler from Japan named Sora Miyaguchi. He's a real asshole."

Rick asked for the penthouse's number; Amare gave him the number and Rick dialed it in.

 _I'm using a phone again, but this time it's for real,_ Rick thought to himself. _Lori won't be on the other end of the line. Instead, it'll be a live person and maybe we can work a deal—_

"Yes, Mr. Tatum?" an authoritative voice asked.

Rick clenched the phone tightly at the sound of the mysterious voice.

"I am busy at the moment, Mr. Tatum, so unless this is an emergency—"

"Hello, Mr. Miyaguchi," Rick interrupted.

The other line was quiet for a minute. Miyaguchi asked, "Did you kill Tatum?"

"No, he's alive," Rick answered.

"Who are you?"

Rick lowered the phone and looked at Daryl, he nodded. Rick looked at Michonne, and she nodded too. Rick brought the phone up to his ear.

"My name is Rick Grimes. I think we should talk."


	13. Chapter 13

**CHAPTER 13**

The other end of the phone went quiet again and Rick glanced anxiously at his group and the Woodbury group as he waited for Sora Miyaguchi to reply.

After a minute, Miyaguchi finally answered, "I agree we should meet, Officer Grimes. I will take the elevator and meet you in the lobby."

There was a click, followed by a dial tone. Rick took the phone away from his ear and looked at it in disbelief. _The son of a bitch hung up on me_ , he thought.

"Well? What did he say?" John asked impatiently.

Rick set the wireless phone down on the granite top bar table and looked at John; he was so shocked that the phone worked that he didn't notice John's disrespectful tone of voice.

"He wants to talk. He'll meet me in the lobby," Rick answered quietly.

The prison group and the Woodbury group exchanged tense glances at Rick's announcement that he was going to meet the Japanese leader of the El Dorado group.

"What do we do, Dad?" Carl asked excitedly.

The sound of Carl's voice snapped Rick out of his stupor and he began plotting for Miyaguchi's arrival.

"We need to get ready for anything," Rick answered as he unslung the M4A1 rifle off his back.

Carl gripped his Beretta 92FS pistol with both hands and looked over his shoulder at the tavern's vaulted doorway in anticipation of a confrontation.

"Is…is there going to be a fight?" Tyreese asked Rick.

Rick held his rifle in his hands but didn't reply.

Daryl took a step towards Amare and shoved the handcuffed ADA's shoulder. "Hey! Does your group have any weapons?" he asked angrily.

"Yeah," Amare answered as he nodded repeatedly, "They've gone out and brought back guns and ammo. That's how I wound up here."

"Shit," Daryl muttered as he stomped away from the young ADA and began pacing across the tavern.

"Maybe there doesn't need to be a fight. Hell, maybe we can use the kid as a hostage and make his boss surrender," Juan suggested.

"Japs don't surrender unless it's post-nuclear bombing," John replied sarcastically.

Juan lowered his head in embarrassment while Amare lowered his own head and began to weep.

"Michonne, take my rifle," Rick ordered.

The mysterious swordswoman sheathed her katana and held out her hands; Rick tossed her his M4A1 rifle and she caught it.

Rick looked at John. "Was there an elevator in that room across the lobby?" he asked.

John thought the question over a moment and nodded. "Yeah, two of them," he answered.

"All right, you and Michonne cover those elevators. Take the AR-15 with you."

Michonne turned around and ran out of the tavern with her hooded cape billowing behind her. John holstered his Colt M1911A1 pistol, took the AR-15 rifle that Amare left propped against the wall, and followed the mysterious woman.

"Michonne, wait!" Carl called out as he turned around to run out of the tavern.

"Carl!" Rick shouted angrily.

Carl's feet skidded to a stop under the arched doorway and he turned around to look at his father.

"I told you to stay with me!"

"But Dad—"

"Get back here!"

Carl lowered his head, stomped towards the bar, climbed onto a stool, where he sat with his arms folded across his chest.

Rick ignored Carl's poor behavior and faced Daryl. "My gun," he said with his hand out.

Daryl stepped forward and returned Rick's Glock 19 pistol with the Maglite suppressor.

"Go to the second floor and cover the elevator," Rick ordered.

Daryl nodded, and unslung his Stryker Strykezone 380 crossbow from his back. He then threw the front of his poncho over his left shoulder for better mobility.

"Karen, go with Daryl and watch the lobby from the staircase."

"Okay," Karen answered as she nodded nervously.

"Vamanos," Daryl ordered Karen as he ran out the tavern with his crossbow in his hands.

Karen nodded and with her M4A1 rifle in her hands, ran to catch up with Daryl.

"Tyreese, you and Sam check the hallway beside the staircase; if you find an elevator watch it," Rick ordered.

Tyreese switched his Mossberg 500 shotgun to his left hand and wrapped his right hand around the head of his framing hammer strapped to his side. "You've got it, Rick," he muttered as he ran out of the tavern.

Sam glared at Rick for a moment and ran to catch up with Tyreese.

"Juan, go back to the vestibule and guard that door. We can't afford any surprise visits from walkers."

Beads of sweat formed on Juan's forehead and the weight of his Remington 870 shotgun was pulling his arm down to the floor. "You're…you're not going to kill him, sí?" he asked Rick nervously.

Rick looked at Juan in disbelief. "I'm just going to talk to the man," he answered.

"Bueno," Juan sighed as he walked out of the tavern.

Floyd looked around the near empty tavern and pointed at himself. "Uh, what about me?" he asked Rick.

The confused look on Rick's face was replaced by a contemptuous one as he glared at the retired mailman who nearly shot him yesterday, and who aimed a gun at Daryl just minutes ago.

"Floyd, you can sit down and shut up," Rick answered as he pointed at a small table and a set of chairs against the wall.

Floyd didn't protest, he simply walked over to the table, pulled the chair out, and sat down.

The only group member left for Rick to give orders was also the one person he worried the most about: Carl.

"Carl," Rick said as he faced his angry son.

Carl remained on the barstool with his arms folded and his battered Stetson hat concealing his face.

"Carl, I can't let you go out there," Rick said calmly, "these people are armed, and they could be dangerous."

"I can take care of myself," Carl said as he looked up at his father.

Rick stared at Carl for a few moments and smiled. _With my old sheriff's deputy hat and that glint in his eye, Carl looks like an adolescent Clint Eastwood!_ He thought.

"I know you can take care of yourself, Carl, I wouldn't have agreed to let you come along if you couldn't. But I hoped this casino would be deserted, and I won't put you in the middle of a gunfight."

Carl lowered his head again, and the Stetson hat covered his features.

"I need you to watch Amare and Floyd," Rick said.

Amare raised his head and looked at Rick as if he was offended. Floyd glanced at Rick and looked down at the table like his name was called by a bartender.

Carl looked at his father again. "He's handcuffed," he said while pointing a thumb at Amare, "and he's a coward," he said while pointing a finger at Floyd.

Amare shook his head as if Carl reminded him that his wrists were handcuffed behind his back. Floyd slouched on the table like his favorite sports team was losing on the flat screen TV's above the bar.

"Yes, they are," Rick agreed with a nod, "but there's a locked door behind you."

Carl spun around on his barstool, and saw a wooden door with a glass window atop it.

"This group may try to get behind us. If that happens I need you to guard that door," Rick said.

Carl looked at his father and grinned. "Yeah!" he agreed proudly.

Carl hopped off the barstool, raised his Beretta 92FS pistol with the aluminum bat suppressor, propped it on the granite bar top, and aimed it at the wooden door.

"I'll be in the lobby, Carl," Rick said as he smiled at his son's determination to protect the group.

"Okay," Carl said, staring down the iron sights of his pistol.

Rick turned around and started walking towards the vaulted doorway.

"Dad?" Carl asked.

Rick stopped under the vaulted doorway and looked over his shoulder at Carl, who was now looking at him.

"Be careful, okay?"

Rick nodded. "I will, son."

•••

In the slot machine room across from the tavern, Michonne and John stood behind the gambling machines as they aimed their rifles at the two elevators along the left wall.

On the second floor, Daryl aimed his crossbow at the four elevators, while a few feet away, Karen knelt at the top of the staircase, aiming her rifle at the elevator's final stop on the lobby.

In the roulette room, Tyreese used a large statue of an Aztec woman for cover as he aimed his shotgun at the three elevators across from him. Sam was a few feet to his left, kneeling behind a roulette table, and aiming his pistol at the elevators.

In the vestibule, Juan sat on the top steps, with his shotgun aimed at the shattered door below him. He heard footsteps behind him and looked over his shoulder to see Rick walk out of the tavern and into the lobby with the pistol with that flashlight on the barrel.

 _Rick said he was going to talk to that Japanese guy, but can I trust him? Mariana warned me about Rick, and I think she might be right,_ Juan thought worriedly as his mind drifted to the past.

•••

Philip stopped in his tracks, looked at Nick, and asked quietly, "Do you smell that?"

Nick stopped walking, took a deep breath, and nodded. "Campfire," he answered in an equally quiet tone.

Juan also stopped walking and took a quick breath; the smell from of the campfire shot into his nostrils.

A moment later muffled voices drifted downhill to Philip and his two companions. Juan's complexion went pale and his heart began pounding in his chest.

The beam of a flashlight struck Juan's face and he nearly screamed in fear. A moment later a calm hand touched his shoulder.

"Are you all right, Juan?" Philip asked as he slung his AR-15 rifle over his shoulder.

"Sí. Sí," Juan answered while nodding quickly.

"Good. Because I'd hate to tell Marianna that you had a heart attack walking up this hill. Right, Nick?"

"Yeah," Nick answered coldly.

"And those people up there?" Juan asked as he gestured up the hill, "are you going to tell Marianna and your daughter that we killed all of them?!"

"Keep your voice down, asshole!" Nick hissed as he stepped forward.

Philip glared at Nick and the other man's complexion turned pale and he backed away. Philip looked at Juan again, squeezed his shoulder, and the Latino handyman felt a surge of confidence.

"You seem to be confused, Juan. We're just going up there to say hello to those people and invite them to join our group. I only asked you if you're prepared to kill because the use of violence is one of several possibilities."

"We're really just going to…talk to them?" Juan asked.

Philip tightened his grip on Juan's shoulder and smiled affably. "Absolutely," he answered.

With that, Philip let go of Juan's shoulder and pointed his flashlight forward as he resumed walking up the hill.

Juan looked at Nick, who looked back at him and resumed walking up the hill with his AR-15 rifle in his hands.

 _Don't be a cabrón!_ Juan scolded himself. _You know what's going to happen! You don't have to be a part of it!_

An instant later, Juan shook his head. _No!_ _You told Philip that you're prepared to kill! You can't be weak or he'll throw you and Marianna out of the group! We'll never survive on our own! Do what you must to protect her!_

Juan held his shotgun and resumed walking uphill. After a few steps he caught up to Philip and Nick.

The voices from the camp grew closer and clearer.

•••

DING!

The elevator's bell chimed, signaling that it—and its mysterious occupant—had reached the lobby. Rick took a deep breath and tapped the Maglite suppressor on his Glock 19 pistol against his right leg.

The door slid open, revealing a thin Japanese man with short, black hair, and wearing a tailored Italian business suit. In his left hand was a katana with a worn handle and sheathed in a scabbard of black wood marred with scratches.

"Sora Miyaguchi?" Rick asked.

The Japanese man stepped out of the elevator and bowed in greeting. "Officer Grimes?" he retorted.

Rick nodded.

"You are not what I expected a police officer to look like," Sora said with a hint of disappointment.

Rick scratched the stubble on his face and looked down at his jacket, buttoned down shirt, and dark jeans. "Well, I haven't had the time to shave or pick up my uniform at the cleaners," he quipped.

Sora didn't respond. The elevator door slid closed behind him, and he looked past Rick at the arched doorway of the El Dorado's tavern. "Did you leave Tatum in the tavern?"

"Yes."

"And you really did not kill him?"

"Yes."

Sora shook his head once. "Pity. In Japan, a samurai who dishonored himself in the eyes of his lord was given the chance to atone through yubitsume: an act in which he would take a knife and amputate his little finger."

"That sounds…extreme," Rick said.

"If one person in your group endangered the others, would you not take your pistol and put a bullet through their head?"

•••

Sora's question made Rick think of Shane: they were best friends—brothers—and they were partners in the King County Sheriff's Department. Rick's wife Lori saw Shane as a friend, and Rick's young son Carl saw Shane as an uncle.

Then one night last year, Rick was stabbing Shane in the heart in the middle of an open field.

Rick killed Shane because the man he loved like a brother, and who was his partner in law enforcement, had lured him away from his family and the group so he could kill him.

And the reason why Shane wanted to kill him was that he wanted Lori.

Shane and Lori believed Rick died in that hospital, and they soon developed an intimate relationship (if the courts still existed, they would've called it an affair). The relationship ended when Rick returned unexpectedly, but Shane refused to let go of Lori.

Rick knew that Shane's story about the prisoner Randall (a young man from a violent group of survivors) breaking his nose and escaping with his gun was a lie, but he still followed Shane into the woods. And when Shane aimed a Glock 19 pistol at him, he refused to draw his Colt Python revolver to give him a reason to kill him.

"Nothing has happened here," Rick said softly as he approached Shane while holding his service revolver with the grip forward in his left hand. "We're going to lay down our guns and we're going to walk back to the farm…together."

Shane looked at Rick as if his resolve to kill him was breaking.

"Back to Lori. Back to Carl. Put this all behind us," Rick whispered as he stood within reach of Shane.

Shane looked down at Rick's service revolver, and took hold of its grip with his left hand. That was the distraction Rick was waiting for: he grabbed Shane, unsheathed his belt knife, and drove it into his best friend's heart.

BLAM!

Shane fired his pistol on reflex, but the bullet flew past Rick harmlessly. Shane fell to his knees, and Rick laid him down on his back, gripping the knife's handle tightly.

"Damn you for making me do this, Shane!" Rick screamed hoarsely as he stood over the dying man. "This was you, not me! You did this to us! This was you, not me…Not me! Not me!"

Rick pulled the knife's blade out of Shane's chest, and a pool of blood rose up from the wound; Shane's left hand touched the bleeding wound, and he kept looking from the blood on his hand and up at Rick in disbelief. Soon, Shane's breathing drew thin, and he died his first death. Rick sat nearby, sobbing uncontrollably, waiting for him to turn into a walker so he could put him…it…down.

But it was Carl who ended up doing that.

•••

"Officer Grimes," said an annoyed voice.

Rick blinked and realized he was standing the lobby of the El Dorado casino, with Sora Miyaguchi, waiting impatiently for an answer to his question.

"To…to protect my family and my group, I'd…do what I have to do," Rick answered uncomfortably.

Sora nodded with satisfaction. "Indeed. Your reaction answered my question perfectly. Who was it you killed, Officer Grimes: your brother or your partner?"

Rick glared at Sora, and said nothing.

"A brother, yes?" Sora asked with a smirk. The Japanese gambler then looked Rick over. " **Grimes** , eh? That is **English** , yes? I thought only the **Irish** held a family tradition in law enforcement."

"Are you a gambler or a psychologist?" Rick asked angrily.

"You would be surprised how much psychology applies to my profession," Sora retorted.

"These days not much surprises me."

"Nor I. But I must admit that I was surprised to hear your voice over the phone. Tell me: how did you get inside my casino?"

Rick pointed at the front door with his left hand. "I broke in."

Sora looked to his left as he took a few more steps towards Rick. "Shattered one of the glass doors, yes? You do realize that the **Oni** are still in Atlanta, yes?"

Rick blinked in confusion. **"Oni?"** he asked.

"Oni. They are the ogres of Japanese folklore. Their notable characteristic are their fangs; quite a fitting name for those monsters outside, and considering their mysterious origin, it is also a more appropriate name than **"geeks"** , as Tatum calls them.

"You forgot to mention one thing," Rick grinned.

Sora raised an eyebrow. "Oh?" he asked.

"You're in charge of your group, so you get to decide what they'll call the dead."

Sora grinned. "Yes. Now, what about your group, Officer Grimes?"

Rick didn't reply.

"Surely you have someone guarding the door," Sora said as he glanced to his left again. "You told me over the phone and face-to-face that you did not kill Tatum, so surely you have someone guarding him.

"Surely you have someone on the staircase covering you," Sora continued as he looked to his right. He spotted Karen kneeling at the top, and looking down the iron sight of her M4A1 rifle. The Japanese gambler bowed in greeting and looked at Rick. "And surely you have the rest of your group scattered around the first two floors of my casino, covering all the elevators in case of an attack by my group."

Rick considered Sora's statement and nodded in agreement. "Well, **surely** you are a brave man to come down here and talk to me."

"Not quite," Sora grinned. "For you to have survived this long, you would know that noise attracts the Oni. It would be foolish for our two groups to engage in a gun fight, especially if you and I can negotiate."

"Exactly," Rick said. A moment later he raised his Glock 19 with Maglite suppressor and aimed it at Sora. "Freeze," he ordered.

Sora's eyes opened wide. "Excuse me?" he asked in disbelief.

"Drop the sword, get on your knees, and put your hands on top of your head."

"This is outrageous!"

"No, it's an order."

Sora regained his composure, and he knelt down, placed the scratched katana on the polished floor, and put his hands on top of his head.

Rick walked past Sora, tucked his pistol behind his back and began patting down the Japanese gambler for additional weapons.

"I do not have a firearm," Sora said angrily.

"But you do have a sword," Rick retorted.

"Do you really believe I could draw that blade and strike you down before you, or your friend upstairs, could shoot me?"

Rick thought about the times he saw Michonne decapitate walkers with one stroke of her katana. "I've seen what a person can do with these swords."

Rick patted Sora's limbs and waist; all he found was a gold platted cigarette lighter, and a gold platted cigarette case with eleven cigarettes inside it. Rick picked up Sora's katana with his left hand, and pulled the gambler up with his right hand.

"You will not lay hands upon me again," Sora warned Rick as he straightened his Italian business suit.

"Sorry, but to have survived this long, you would know that you can't trust strangers," Rick quipped as he threw Sora's earlier statement back at him.

When Sora brushed himself off, Rick tossed the katana back to him and the Japanese gambler caught it with his right hand. Rick looked up the staircase and nodded at Karen; the young woman lowered her rifle, stood up and walked down the staircase.

"I want to see Tatum and phone my associates upstairs," Sora said without acknowledging Karen's presence, "If they do not hear from me in ten minutes, they will be…concerned."

"Follow me," Rick grinned. "If you walk into the bar first, you'll catch a bullet."

Sora moved his scratched katana from his right hand to his left, and followed Rick towards the casino's tavern. Daryl walked down the staircase, and when the hunter stepped onto the polished floor, he slung his crossbow over his shoulder and stood beside Karen.

"That guy's an asshole," Karen whispered to Daryl.

Daryl heard footsteps to his left; he looked in that direction and saw John stepping out of the slot machine room ahead of Michonne. The hunter snorted and quipped "Yeah, the world's still full of those."

•••

"Carl, Lower your gun," Rick ordered.

Carl backed away from the bar, lowered his pistol, and looked at the vaulted doorway. "Okay, Dad," he said.

Rick walked into the tavern, with Sora behind him. Carl watched the Japanese gambler warily.

"Carl, this is Sora Miyaguchi, he's the leader of the El Dorado group."

"Hi," Carl said coldly.

Sora bowed in greeting.

"Your son, yes?" Sora asked as he looked at Rick. "It is good to see an American youth with an appreciation for the western genre."

"What's he talking about?" Carl asked his father.

Rick tapped his forehead. "Your hat," he answered.

Carl pushed the brim of his Stetson hat up to look tough to Sora.

Amare was still on the barstool with his hands cuffed behind his back, when he heard Sora's voice he looked over his shoulder, and when he saw Sora, he gulped fearfully.

"Good evening, Mr. Tatum," Sora said as he walked over to the young ADA. "This police officer and his group broke into my casino and you did nothing to stop them."

"I'm sorry," Amare whined.

Sora looked to his right and saw Floyd sitting at a table against the wall, looking like a disgruntled customer. "Who is that?"

"That's Floyd," Rick answered.

"He seems useless."

"Christ Almighty…" Floyd muttered as he looked down at the menu on his table.

Rick picked up the wireless phone and offered it to Sora. "You wanted to talk to your people," he reminded the Japanese gambler.

Sora nodded.

"Go ahead. But put it on speaker."

Sora took the phone, dialed the penthouse, and clicked the speaker button. The phone rang once, and there was a male voice that asked "Boss?"

"Yes, Mr. Singleton," Sora answered.

"Are you okay?" Singleton's voice asked.

"I am well."

"What's going on down there?"

"I am in the tavern with Officer Grimes."

"What about Amare?"

Sora glared at the young ADA. "I will deal with him later."

Amare lowered his head again and closed his eyes.

"How many people are with this cop?"

"I have seen four people but surely there are—"

Rick grabbed the wireless phone from Sora. "Wrap up the call," he ordered in a whisper.

Sora grinned and rested the end of his scratched katana on the floor like it was a cane. "Mr. Singleton: I think it is time you and the others come down and say hello to our guests."

"Sure, boss," Singleton replied.

A second later there was a click, followed by a dial tone; Rick turned off the wireless phone and set it down on the granite top bar table.

"My associates are on their way," Sora said.

"They better not try anything stupid," Rick warned the Japanese gambler.

"I doubt Mr. Singleton will act recklessly. Besides, I find you to be a fascinating individual."


	14. Chapter 14

**CHAPTER 14**

The prison group and the Woodbury group (minus Juan, who was still guarding the shattered front door) along with Sora and Amare (who Rick had released from the handcuffs) watched the five sets of elevators with the profile of an Aztec temple carved into them. Suddenly, two elevator floor indicators flashed the number 30 in red digits, and began counting down.

"Here they come," Rick said, his hand resting on the grip of his holstered Colt Python revolver.

"Hey, Colonel Saito," John spat at Sora.

Sora looked at John icily for calling him after the Japanese commandant of the POW camp in the classic war film _Bridge on the River Kwai_.

"Your pals better not try a banzai charge when those elevator doors open."

"They are not my pals, they are my associates," Sora answered contemptuously. "And furthermore, they are not even Japanese, they are Americans. So for them to try a banzai charge would be impossible."

John chuckled. "Are you bullshitting me? You fucking run at the enemy screaming your fucking lungs out and the enemy fucking mows you down with bullets; simple as that."

Sora sighed audibly, as if carrying a conversation with John took all the patience he could muster. "You served in the American army, yes?" he asked.

"You're Goddamn right," John answered proudly.

"Then I have no reluctance telling you that there is a great difference between fighting for your country and fighting for your emperor."

John's smile disappeared from his face, and his eyes turned red like a traffic light. "What the fuck did you just say?"

"I believe you are not thatold to suffer from hearing loss."

"You Jap son of a bitch!" John balled his fists and stomped towards Sora.

Rick stepped into John's path, the Vietnam veteran tried to shove the sheriff's deputy aside, but Rick stood his ground.

"Okay, back off!" Rick ordered.

"I'm not going to let that Jap runt get away with insulting my country!" John shouted.

"A soldier who fights for his country fights for an ideal. But a soldier—a samurai—who fights for his emperor, fights for a god. Quite a difference, yes?"

John pushed Rick's hands away from him and glared at Sora. "Kiss my ass," he muttered.

Sora glared at John for a few moments and resumed looking up at the two elevator floor indicators; soon everyone else in the lobby did the same.

Carl reached for the sleeve on his father's jacket and tugged on it lightly. Rick looked down at his son and bent down so they could whisper to one another.

"Are you going to just stand there while he insults us?" Carl whispered.

"For now…yes," Rick answered.

Rick stood up and continued watching the red digits on the elevator floor indicator count down to one.

Carl stepped over to Michonne and took hold of her hand. The mysterious swordswoman looked down at Carl and knelt down so she and Carl were at eye level.

"I don't trust this guy," Carl whispered.

Michonne nodded in agreement, squeezed Carl's hand, and stood up.

Carl walked over to Daryl, who was leaning against the granite reception desk. Daryl had his crossbow pointed at the floor, his poncho slung over his left shoulder, and he was chewing on a toothpick he took from the tavern.

"What are we doing here?" Carl whispered.

"I heard you begged your old man to let you come along," Daryl retorted.

"Yeah, but I thought this would be exciting!"

Daryl snorted in amusement. "That fracas with the walkers out in the parkin' lot wasn't excitin' enough for you?"

Carl looked down at the marble floor shifted his posture. "I just thought—"

"Don't think, be observant," Daryl interrupted.

Carl considered Daryl's advice for a moment, and then he looked up as the two elevator floor indicators counted down the final ten digits before Sora's group reached the lobby.

DING!

The two pairs of elevator doors slid open.

Inside the first elevator was a barrel chested white man with curly brown hair and a beard; he was wearing a plaid shirt and blue jeans. In his strong hands was an MK 18 Mod 0 assault carbine with a forward grip, while holstered on his side was a Glock 17 pistol. Beside him was a Hispanic man with a shaved head, and wearing a sweatshirt and dark jeans. In his hands was an M16A4 assault rifle, and around his waist was a US Army web belt and holster that held a Beretta M9 pistol.

In the second elevator was a white man with black hair, and he wore a business shirt with the neck unbuttoned and the sleeves rolled up to his forearms, and black pants. In his hands was an HK UMP45 submachine gun, and holstered on his side was an HK USP Compact pistol. Beside him was a beautiful young woman whose brunette hair was done up in a ponytail, and she wore a short sleeve shirt and blue jeans. In her hands was an Ithaca 37 "stakeout" shotgun and an attached sidesaddle for shells, and holstered on her side was a Smith & Wesson 64 snub nose revolver.

Rick raised his left hand, but kept his right on the grip of his revolver. "All right, everyone take it easy."

"Are you all right, boss?" the bearded man asked.

Rick recognized the bearded man's voice as the one Sora talked to on the wireless phone's speaker.

"I am fine, Mr. Singleton. Our young friend Mr. Tatum, however, has had better evenings," Sora answered.

Sora's group—the El Dorado group—looked at the young ADA, and he lowered his head in embarrassment.

"Did they rough you up, Amare?" the bearded man asked.

Amare looked up and shook his head. "No man. They were cool."

The El Dorado group stepped out of the elevators, and their leader stepped forward to stand between the three groups.

"Officer Grimes, allow me to introduce the rest of my associates. First, this is my second-in-command: Harold Singleton."

"Officer," Harold said as he extended his hand to Rick.

"Call me Rick," the sheriff's deputy smiled as he gave Harold a firm handshake.

Sora gestured towards the latino man. "This is Alonso, the head chef."

Alonso smiled and extended his hand to Rick. "Good evening," he said with a Latin accent.

"Good evening," Rick replied as he shook Alonso's hand.

Sora took a few steps down the lobby and gestured at the last two members of his group. "This is Frank and Julia, one of our cocktail waitresses."

"Frankie," the young man corrected.

Sora glared at Frankie; the young man looked down at the marble floor and fumbled with the submachine gun in his hands.

"Uh, I prefer being called Frankie," the young man muttered.

"Okay, Frankie. Nice meeting you," Rick nodded.

"Hi," Julia smiled, showing a set of perfectly white, straight teeth.

Rick nodded at the young woman. "Hello," he said.

Rick stood profile and gestured towards his group. "This is Michonne. She's…" Rick then realized he knew nothing about the woman and he froze for a few embarrassing moments until he said, "she's a friend."

Michonne's eyes widened and she looked at Rick as if he said they both were engaged.

Sora looked Michonne over and smiled approvingly. A moment later he bowed in greeting. "Good evening, Michonne."

Michonne folded her arms across her chest and nodded coldly.

"This is John Boyd," Rick said as he continued the introductions with less enthusiasm.

"Yeah, Kon'ichiwa," John grumbled irritably with his hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket.

Sora glared at John, and said nothing.

Rick walked down the lobby to introduce the rest of his group. Sora walked alongside him, the Japanese gambler carrying his sheathed katana in his left hand.

"Juan's guarding the main entrance. This is Floyd. Sam. Karen, and Tyreese."

"Wait a second," Frankie said as he squint his eyes at Tyreese. "Didn't you play for the Falcons a few seasons ago?"

Tyreese's eyes brightened at the possibility that someone recognized him for his brief time in the NFL. "Yes! Yes I did!" he shouted happily.

Frankie grinned and ran over to Tyreese with his hand extended. "Holy shit! I grew up watching the Falcons! You're…Tyreese Williams, right?"

"Yeah! Tyreese Williams. That's me!" the former football player grinned as he shook Frankie's hand.

"It's great to meet you! I'll bet you've got a few stories about the team."

"Yeah, yeah I do. As a matter of fact, I remember my first day at training camp, and—"

"May we continue with the introductions, Officer Grimes?" Sora interrupted, clearly annoyed by Frankie and Tyreese's conversation.

"Uh, of course," Rick answered as he looked around the lobby for Carl and Daryl, and found them leaning against the granite reception desk. "You've met my son Carl. That's Daryl Dixon, my second-in-command."

Carl glared underneath the brim of his battered Stetson at Sora like a sheriff watching as a gunfighter rode into town. Daryl raised his right arm in the air and gave Sora the Finger.

Sora's eyes burned with anger and he bared his teeth with rage. He pushed his left thumb against the round handguard of his katana, exposing an inch of razor sharp steel before he grasped the handle with his right hand in preparation to draw the sword.

Rick stepped in front of Sora, blocking the Japanese gambler from charging Daryl, who stood straight, spat the toothpick onto the lobby floor and wrapped his right hand around the grip of his crossbow in preparation for a fight.

"Uh, that was just Daryl's way of saying hello," Rick explained with a false smile.

Sora glared at Rick for few moments, but he huffed, slid the inch of exposed steel back into the scabbard, and let go of the katana's handle.

"You and I must talk…privately."

Rick nodded.

"I want that glass door replaced before the Oni notice the casino now has a weak point."

Rick nodded again.

"You admitted to breaking the glass door, Officer Grimes, so Dixon can replace it."

Daryl glared at Sora and he took an aggressive step forward. Rick—who had lied about being the one who shattered the glass window—glared at Sora, too. The tension in the lobby was heavy as a game of baccarat.

"I'd rather Tyreese replaced the glass door," Rick said.

"Why?" Sora asked.

"Tyreese is a construction worker. Besides, if the "Oni" show up, Daryl can cover him."

Sora considered Rick's suggestion, and he nodded. "Very well. Mr. Singleton can show Mr. Williams where we keep the spare parts. I am sure Frank would be honored to help. Perhaps he can get a story or two from the former American football player."

Sora turned to his right and proceeded to walk towards the vaulted doorway that was beside the stone staircase. The Japanese gambler waved his right hand, indicating he wanted Rick to follow him.

Rick looked at Daryl, Carl, and Michonne, and nodded to the three of them; they nodded in return, and Rick followed Sora. The two leaders walked through the vaulted doorway and walked down the adjoining hallway.

"All right, folks, welcome to the El Dorado: hotel and casino," Harold smiled as he slung his submachine gun over his shoulder. "You're welcome to the play the slots and the tables, but I can't guarantee you can cash in any winnings."

Tyreese, Karen, John, Floyd, and Sam chuckled. Michonne smiled. Daryl and Carl observed.

"We keep the spare parts in the basement. You mind following me, Tyreese?" Harold asked.

"No problem," Tyreese answered with a smile.

"Hey, wait for me guys!" Frankie shouted as he ran to catch up.

Michonne turned around and walked towards Daryl and Carl, while John and his Woodburians shook hands with the El Dorado group and started talking to them.

"You think that gambler is dealing a loaded deck?" Michonne asked Daryl.

Daryl grunted in agreement. "He's just another wolf leadin' a pack of sheep."

"Like the Governor," Carl chimed in.

Michonne nodded. "We took a huge risk coming here. We need to give Rick a chance to negotiate with Sora. If he can work a deal to get even half of what we need, the risk will be worth it."

"What would Sora want in return?" Carl asked.

Michonne put a hand on Carl's shoulder. "I think the people in this casino survived this long thanks to the locked doors, the supplies they already had, and a little luck. If we can teach them how to deal with walkers—like using their guts as camouflage—Sora might trade that for food and gasoline."

"That's a big if," Daryl said as he scratched his goatee.

Michonne looked at Daryl and shrugged her shoulders. "I don't see any other options."

From the dark vestibule, Juan had watched the meeting between the prison, Woodbury, and the El Dorado groups. Then he watched as Rick and Sora left to have a private meeting. Now he watched as the prison group spoke separately, while the Woodbury and the El Dorado groups mingled.

 _They're probably deciding when the best time is to kill all of us,_ Juan thought. _Rick probably talked to them about it before we left the prison. Why not? His son came along. He almost killed Sam when he tried to steal those guns. That niño won't hesitate to pull a trigger; I could never be like that, even though I said I could._

A tear ran down Juan's eye and he brushed it away. He then looked back at the shattered doorway and thought about that night last year with Nick and the Governor.

•••

The Governor, Juan, and Nick stood on the edge of darkness as they looked uphill at the group of four young men sitting around a large campfire. A fifth young man with a beard was standing a few yards away at a barbecue grille, working a spatula over a cooking flame.

"Did you guys hear that?" A man with a thin goatee asked nervously as he looked downhill.

"Yeah, it was my stomach growling!" a young man with short blonde hair quipped. The rest of the group laughed.

 _By that cabrón's tone of voice, he must be the group's leader,_ Juan thought.

The group's leader turned towards the man cooking at the grille. "Hey, Sean! Are those burgers done yet, or should I get drive thru at McDonalds instead?"

A boisterous laugh rang out from the rest of group. Sean smiled and flipped his hungry leader the Finger.

"What about that noise, man? What if it was a geek?" asked the goateed man.

"Will you shut the fuck up?" the leader retorted. "The geeks won't be coming up these motorbike trails; and if they do, we've got guns to blow them away."

The group was quiet for a minute, and a young man with a hooded sweatshirt looked at the one wearing a ball cap backwards. "Did you pick up anything new on the radio, Kurt?"

Kurt glanced down at the radio and shook his head. "Just more of the same shit: 'We're outnumbered. We're running out of ammo. We need air support. The troops are deserting."

The group was quiet once again. Finally, the youngest one whispered, "Oh, my God."

"Ah, don't sweat it, bro!" the leader said with a grin. "Soon as our troops from Iraq and Afghanistan come home, they'll kick those dead fuckers back to the cemetery and everything will be back to normal."

"I…I don't things will ever be normal again."

"Hey, all I can say to that is our dad got his ass chewed off by those stinking fuckers; that means the house, the Porsche, the boat, and the millions in the bank are ours! That's normal enough for me!"

The group (except for its leader's young brother) laughed louder this time. Philip signaled for Juan and Nick to stay put, and he used the group's laughter as an opportunity to walk out of the darkness and into the light of the large campfire, the barrel of his AR15 rifle was aimed at the ground.

"Good evening," Philip said warmly.

The group screamed in fear as they either leapt to their feet or fell onto their backs, at Philip's sudden appearance.

"You motherfucker!" The group's leader shouted as he leapt up from the ground. "You scared the shit out of us!"

Philip smiled. "I'm sorry. I was out hunting and I smelled the smoke from your campfire."

"You're lucky we didn't shoot you, mister," the leader's younger brother said.

"Indeed I am," Philip said as he looked at the group of five young men. "But now that you mention it, none of you seem to be carrying any guns."

The group blushed and lowered their heads in embarrassment. "Uh, we put them away because we were about to eat dinner."

"What's on the menu?"

"Hamburgers."

Philip nodded in approval. "That sounds good. Can you spare a plate?"

The group raised their heads and looked at their leader, who chewed his lower lip with indecision. "Uh, sure. Why not?"

Philip moved his AR-15 rifle to his left hand and held out his right, "Philip Blake," he said with a smile.

The rich kid shook Philip's hand. "Lance Keaton."

"I'm sorry we had to meet like this, Lance."

"Hey, what counts is that we're all still alive, right?"

"Right."

Lance's little brother coughed to get his attention; the group's leader stepped aside and gestured at his group's youngest member. "Uh, Philip, this is my brother, Bryan."

"Hello, Bryan," Philip said as he stepped forward and extended his hand.

"Hi," Bryan said as he shook Philip's hand.

Lance then gestured at the nervous young man with the thin goatee. "This is Caden; he's my roommate at Georgia."

"Hello, Caden," Philip said as he extended his hand.

"Hey," Caden muttered as he shook Caden's hand; it was a weak grip.

Philip gestured towards Kurt, who had his hands folded across his chest. "This is Kurt. I've known him since Junior High."

"Hello, Kurt," Philip said, extending his hand.

"Hey, Philip," Kurt said as he shook hands.

"And this is Sean. He got expelled from high school for marijuana, so if you need something to help you relax, he's your boy."

"Fuck you, Lance. You were my biggest customer," Sean grinned.

The group (except for Bryan) laughed; Philip chuckled.

"Sean's other hobby is cooking; we loaded up his dad's grille onto one of our trucks, and hauled ass into these hills."

Philip nodded with admiration. "You're quite a leader, Lance. If there's one way to survive in this insanity, it's with family and friends."

Lance grinned and put his hands on his hips like Superman, as his group (including Bryan) cheered.

"Speaking of friends, I have two with me."

Lance's smile faded and his hands dropped to his sides slowly. "You're…you're not alone?" he asked timidly.

The smiles and the cheers from Lance's group stopped, too.

Philip turned around and looked downhill into the darkness. "Juan. Nick. Come on up!" he called out.

Juan heard Nick stand up and walked uphill; Juan took a deep breath, stood up, and followed him into the light of the campfire.

"Were these guys hiding all this time?!" Kurt asked.

"Who else is out there?" Sean added.

"Oh, shit," Caden muttered as he threw his arms around his waist.

Philip ignored the group's questions and outbursts as Juan and Nick stood beside him.

Bryan walked over to Lance's side and tugged on his arm. "Lance, do something!" he whispered.

"Uh, this ain't cool, Philip. You said you were out hunting alone."

Philip looked at Lance and smiled. "I said I was out hunting. I never said I was out hunting alone."

"Yeah, you're a real comedian, Philip. Now why don't you and your boys turn around, and get the fuck out of here!"

Philip raised a hand to signal a halt. "Now wait a minute, Lance. When I smelled the smoke from your camp, I thought it was best if I went ahead to see if you guys were friendlies. You're a leader, Lance. You know a leader has to put the lives of his group ahead of his own!"

Lance lowered his head and began wringing his hands. "Uh, yeah. Fuck. Being a leader sucks. I didn't want this shit. But…Bryan…he…he needs me."

The camp grew quiet until Phillip said, "May I say something, Lance?"

"Uh, yeah, Philip. Shoot."

A smile twitched across Philip's face.

 _Oh, Dios mío,_ Juan thought.

"The burgers are burning," Philip said.

Lance and his group turned around and saw a black cloud of smoke rising from the grille.

"Oh, fuck!" Sean shouted as he ran towards the grille.

"Goddammit, Sean! Why the fuck weren't you watching the burgers?" Lance shouted.

"Hey, **fearless leader** , why the fuck weren't you keeping an eye out for an asshole like this guy?" Sean retorted as he waved a towel to clear the black smoke.

"Gentlemen, I'm sorry that I've ruined your evening," Philip said sadly. "After so many days on the road hiding from those…things…those biters, I prayed my friends and I would run across others we could wait out this…Biblical plague until the army rescued all of us.

"I can see that I've worn out my welcome. Good night, Lance. Keep Bryan close. I know you all can survive this."

Philip slung his AR-15 rifle over his shoulder and started walking downhill. Juan and Nick glanced at each other and followed him.

"Hey, Philip!" Lance shouted.

Philip stopped walking, turned around, and saw Lance standing at the edge of his campfire.

"Listen, man. The burgers…well…they're not **that** burnt, so if you and your boys are hungry, mi casa es tu casa."

Philip grinned. "Thank you, Lance. We appreciate it. Don't we, Juan?"

Juan looked at Philip. He tried to answer, but no words exited his mouth.

Philip patted Juan on the back, and returned to the camp. A moment later, Nick followed Philip. Juan looked over his shoulder at the darkness, and reluctantly walked uphill.

•••

"'Excuse us, Juan," a voice said.

Juan blinked and looked behind him to see Tyreese, and Harold stepping into the vestibule while carrying a pane of glass wrapped in canvas. Frank was behind them with a tool bag slung over his shoulder, and a broom and dustpan in his hands. A few feet behind Frank was Daryl, with his crossbow in his hands, his poncho flung over his left shoulder like a scarf, and an annoyed look on his face.

"This is going to take a while, so why don't you join the others and get something to eat; their cook is getting dinner ready. Daryl's got our backs."

Juan thought about that meal a year ago in Lance's camp, and shivered. "I'm not hungry, Tyreese."

"Oh, yeah?" Harold asked with a smile. "Wait until you get a taste of Alonso's cooking. I swear to God he must've been a student of Emeril!"

Juan stood up and walked past Frank as he entered the lobby. Juan glanced at Daryl, who glared at him. Juan, frightened, put his head down and walked up the lobby to find the others.

Daryl leaned against the lobby wall, and watch disinterestedly as Tyreese and Harold set the glass panel down and Frank swept up the shards of glass.

"Hey, Tyreese, can you tell me about your first game at the Georgia Dome?" Frank asked.

•••

"You must be curious as to why I am in America," Sora asked Rick as they exited the hallway and entered the roulette room.

Rick looked at Sora. "The El Dorado is the first legal casino to be built in Atlanta, and its construction and grand opening got a lot of media attention. I'm sure the owners were happy a shark like you arrived to try your luck."

"Indeed. For the past sixteen years I have made and lost fortunes at casinos across the world. I was doing well for myself at the El Dorado, but then the news broadcasts reported the Oni had appeared in Los Angeles. A few days after that, the broadcasts reported the Oni were in Atlanta.

"The El Dorado looked less like a casino and more like a subway terminal: guests and employees running for the doors with their luggage packed hastily, lines of cars extending from the parking lot to the exits; the car horns blaring, the people screaming…"

Sora shook his head in a rare moment of humanity, and looked at Rick. "But you are a police officer. I am sure you remember what it was like in the early days."

Rick thought back to a year ago: he had been shot in the line of duty and fell into a coma. When he woke up days later he found himself in an abandoned hospital, and the world overrun by the dead. His family, Lori and Carl were gone, but by a stroke of luck (or a miracle, as Hershel would call it) he found them along with Shane, who led a diverse group of people at a quarry outside Atlanta.

Rick saw that Lori and Carl were shocked but overjoyed to be reunited with him. Shane, on the other hand, was distant. Rick also noticed some tension between Lori and Shane, but said nothing about it or Shane's aloofness; he had to make sure his family was safe. He had to make sure the group was safe.

Now, a year later, Lori and Shane were dead, and Rick knew the reasons for their odd behavior: Shane and Lori thought he died when the hospital was overrun, so they began an intimate relationship. Lori stopped the relationship, but Shane couldn't let her go. And finally, soon after the group relocated to Hershel's farm, Lori discovered she was pregnant. Carl named the baby girl Judith, after his favorite elementary school teacher.

But Rick didn't need to tell Sora Miyaguchi all of that. If he was going to negotiate with a jet setting gambler, Rick knew it was wise to hold some cards close to the vest.

"Yeah," Rick muttered in agreement with Sora's question.

The two men walked across the roulette room and stopped at the vaulted doorway; Sora leaned inside and flipped some switches along the wall, and the dark room lit up suddenly. Rick saw that this was the poker room. In the center was a tall palm tree, and at both ends of the room was a stone statue of Aztec women, carrying a wicker basket filled with corn. Rick followed Sora to one of the poker tables, and saw it had the traditional green baize, and printed on its center was the legend in black words: THE EL DORADO.

Sora walked around the poker table, leaned his katana against it, pulled up the dealer's chair, and sat down.

Rick's police training kicked in suddenly: Sora had set his katana on the left side of his chair, meaning he could reach across his chest, grab the sword's handle, and draw the weapon. Rick he set his Glock 19 pistol with Maglite suppressor down on the poker table, with the barrel facing Sora. Rick then pulled up a chair, sat down, and rested his right hand on the pistol's grip.

Sora looked at the pistol and then he picked up a deck of cards from the poker table and began to shuffle them. "I do not like having guns pointed at me, Officer Grimes."

"It's just a little insurance," Rick explained. "I've seen how quickly Michonne can kill walkers with a sword like that one."

Sora grinned. "Why would I want to kill you?"

"I broke into your casino. I cost you a glass door, and me being a police officer threatens your group's loyalty. Did I miss anything?"

Sora stopped shuffling the cards for a moment, grinned, and resumed shuffling them again. "I believe not."

"Do you always carry a sword with you when you're gambling?" Rick asked.

Sora glanced at the katana. "It is not mine. I found it in a pawn shop during a supply run seven months ago. Doubtless, it was a taken as a trophy by an American solider after the surrender of the Japanese Empire. Doubtless more, after that American soldier died, his heirs took the sword to that pawn shop and got whatever money they could for it. Do all Americans have no respect for the past?"

"Are you always this pleasant when you're playing cards?" Rick retorted.

Sora glared at Rick, dealt out a hand for him, and then he dealt out a hand for himself. "You will see just how pleasant I can be, Officer Grimes. I welcome the opportunity to play against a new opponent. I am tired of playing—and beating—my associates on a regular basis."

Rick picked up his cards and studied them. _I haven't played cards since I was a kid, sitting across from my dad at the breakfast table,_ he thought worriedly.

Sora took a small stack of poker chips and pushed them towards Rick. "Why are you here, Officer Grimes?" he asked.

"I'm looking for supplies," Rick answered.

"This is a casino, not a supermarket," Sora said.

"No shit," Rick replied.

"Do not patronize me, Grimes," Sora spat; it was the first time he addressed Rick without the title of officer.

"Maybe if you dialed down that ego of yours, I will," Rick retorted.

The two men glared at each other for a few moments; Sora took a few poker chips of his own and threw them down onto the gold circle that served as the pot, and the game began.

After a few minutes of tense silence, Sora asked: "What exactly are you looking for in regards to supplies?"

"Food, medicine, and gasoline," Rick answered as he studied his hand.

"You will find plenty of both here. But why should I offer them to you?"

"Because I have something to offer you in return."

"And what is that?"

"A place."

"A place?"

"A safe place," Rick nodded, "safer than this casino."

Sora studied Rick's face for a few moments and looked down at his hand. "I do not agree with your assessment of my casino."

"Do you care to tell me why?" Rick asked as he took a card from his own hand, and placed it down on the poker table; he then tossed a chip into the pot and took a new card from the deck.

"My associates and I have survived in this casino for over a year without any intrusions from the Oni," Sora answered.

"How long do you think that'll last?" Rick asked. "My people and I got in easily, and we got the drop on your guard to boot."

Sora glared at Rick. "Security is only as good as the individual responsible for it. I can assure you that Mr. Tatum will be disciplined."

Rick lowered his hand and glared at Sora. "Yeah, I could tell by the way that kid was behaving that you had plans for him. Is that why your "associates" have been reduced to just five people? Did you use that sword to "discipline" every guard who took a bathroom break without permission?"

"Hardly. I have used this sword of a few occasions, but the majority of our losses have occurred on supply runs."

"All the more reason you and your people should take my offer and leave this casino."

Sora didn't reply, instead he took a card from his hand and placed it on the poker table; he then took one of his poker chips and tossed it into the pot, and took a new card from the deck.

After a minute of tense silence Sora asked, "What is this place you are offering? A police station? An office park?"

"I can't say. You'll just have to trust me," Rick answered.

"You are asking **much** from me, yet **little** in return, Officer Grimes."

"Can I make a suggestion, Mr. Miyaguchi?"

"By all means."

"Start thinking about what's best for your people. You're hole up in a casino, which happens to be in Atlanta, a city that belongs to the dead. How much longer do you think this place will last before the dead—or a more desperate group—break in?"

Sora stared at his hand for a few moments and looked up at Rick. "What do you have, Officer Grimes?"

Rick placed his hand face up on the poker table. "Three of a kind," he said.

Sora glared at Rick and placed his hand face up on the poker table. "A straight flush," he retorted.

Rick looked down at the cards and shrugged. "Okay, so I lost. Does that mean I should gather up my people and leave?"

"Hardly," Sora answered as he gathered up the cards. "What you said during our game was sound, and while I am wary about your "Shangri-La," I am well aware that the grains of sand in the hourglass have just about run out on the El Dorado."

Sora placed the cards atop the deck, and then he gathered up the chips in the pot and placed them in his jacket's pocket. "Old habits die hard," he explained.

Rick didn't reply; his right hand moved beside the grip of his Glock 19 pistol.

Sora stood up from the dealer's chair and he picked up his sheathed katana. "I suggest we tell our associates about our deal, I am certain they all will be excited to hear it."

Sora walked around the poker table and entered the roulette room.

 _I've got a bad feeling about this,_ Rick thought as he picked up his Glock 19 pistol, stood up from the chair, and followed the Japanese gambler on the journey back to the lobby.


	15. Chapter 15

**CHAPTER 15**

Rick was following Sora down the hallway when he stopped in his tracks. "Wait a minute," he whispered.

Sora stopped walking and turned profile.

"Do you hear that?" Rick asked.

Sora raised his head and he heard the sound more clearly.

It was the sounds of voices; familiar voices.

Rick looked to his right, and saw an open doorway that led to a waiting room. Above the doorway was a sign that read: THE EL DORADO RESTURANTE.

Rick peeked inside and saw it was a waiting room. The set of French doors had white curtains and the doors had their stoppers set. On both sides of the room were wooden benches; across the room was another set of French doors, with their curtains down, and beside the doors was a menu board.

Rick stepped back into the hallway and looked at Sora, who had a puzzled look on his face. The two men entered the waiting room and walked over to the final set of French doors. Rick stuck his Glock 19 pistol with the Maglite suppressor at the small of his back, reached for the door handles, turned them, and pushed the doors open.

The opened doors revealed the El Dorado's restaurant. There were dozens of circular tables covered in white linen, and a red carpet with the casino's logo of a golden Aztec pyramid printed randomly upon it. In the center of the far wall was an emergency exit, and in-between it was a row of windows that would offer a picturesque view of the Atlanta skyline, but their curtains were down, providing the illusion that the El Dorado was abandoned. But of more interest to Rick and Sora, was that the voices they heard belonged to their people: they were seated, four to a table, talking, eating grilled chicken sandwiches, and drinking Coca-Cola or beer like friends eating out on a weekend.

The two exceptions at this pleasant meal were Daryl and Juan.

Daryl sat on a table by the windows, with a sandwich in his hands, a Coors Light beer at his left side, and his poncho draped over a chair while his Stryker Strykezone 380 crossbow leaned atop it at his right side.

A melancholy Juan sat with John, Floyd, and Sam, sipping a Dos Equis beer, while a sandwich laid untouched and going cold on a dish.

Rick spotted Carl and Michonne at the table in front of him; Carl sat with his back to the French doors, and his battered Stetson hat was set atop the chair's right finial. Michonne was seated to the left and she had removed her sheathed katana and hooded cape, and slung them both over the back of her chair.

The prison group, The Woodbury group, and the El Dorado group realized the French doors had opened, and they looked up or turned around in their chairs to see the new arrivals.

Carl looked over his shoulder with a half-eaten sandwich in his hands. "Hey, Dad," he garbled with a mouthful of food, "you've got to try one of these sandwhich—"

"What is going on here?" Sora interrupted as he took an authoritative step forward.

Alonso put the remnants of his sandwich down on his plate, wiped his mouth with a napkin, and stood up from his chair.

"Ah. Well, sir, we—I mean **"I"** —though that these people must be hungry, and since I was going to start cooking dinner in half an hour—"

"You should have consulted with me," Sora interrupted curtly.

"Ah, yes," Alonso said while twisting his napkin nervously. "But you were playing cards with that police officer—"

"It was a poor game, Alonso."

"Yes, sir," Alonso said as he nodded quickly.

Rick would be the first to admit he wasn't a gambler, but he immediately felt insulted by Sora's statement and tone of voice. _You arrogant son of a bitch,_ he though while glaring at the Japanese gambler.

"Nevertheless, Alonso," Sora said as he walked further into the restaurant, "I have decided that Officer Grimes and his associates are our guests, so I will overlook your impudent generosity. Now sit down and listen carefully…I have an announcement to make."

"Yes, sir," Alonso repeated before sitting down in his chair.

Rick looked at the others in the casino group, and saw their eyes (especially Amare's) held a mixture of fear and resignation. _They're afraid of Miyaguchi, but they've accepted the way they live. Will they join me like I warned they would or will they stay loyal to him?_

"All right. Officer Grimes—like most of you before him— did his best to defeat me at poker, but his best was not enough," Sora said as he began pacing the restaurant with his sheathed katana in his left hand, "he did, however, present me with a deal."

Rick watched Sora's pacing with growing apprehension. _He's being more dramatic than necessary_.

"A deal, boss?" Harold asked with interest.

"Yes, Mr. Singleton, a very intriguing one," Sora answered to his second-in-command.

"What is it?" Julia asked.

"Maybe Rick and his people are part of a larger group, and the deal was to protect this casino in exchange for room and board," Alonso suggested.

"Yeah, and maybe that larger group is a bunch of cops," Frankie added as he scratched his chin in thought.

Across the room, Daryl snorted in amusement. Everyone (except Juan) turned around and looked at the redneck, but he ignored them and took another bite of his sandwich.

"Wait a Goddamn minute," John asked as he stood up from his chair and looked at Rick. "You offered this Jap bastard a deal?"

Rick put his hands on his hips and shook his head. _Dammit, John, this isn't the time for you to get riled up_ , he thought angrily.

"I advise you to watch your tongue, sir, otherwise you will soon find it cut out of your mouth," Sora warned as he came to a stop beside John.

John glared at Sora, but when he saw the cold determination in the Japanese gambler's eyes, he unsnapped his holster's retaining strap, and wrapped his fingers around the grip of his Colt M1911A1 pistol.

After watching John's actions, a small grin appeared on Sora's face, and with his left thumb against his katana's handguard, he pushed the sword forward, exposing an inch of sharp steel in preparation of drawing the whole sword out for a fight.

Michonne stood up from her chair and stood in between the two men. "Stop it," she ordered.

"He's the one being the asshole," John argued.

"Have you already forgotten that I allowed your group to stay in my casino?" Sora retorted. "Are all Americans as dense as you?"

"You'd be a better host if you'd stop being snide," Michonne said to Sora.

Sora returned the half-drawn katana to its scabbard and bowed to Michonne. "Forgive me. The duty of protecting my associates has made my tone harsh."

Michonne looked at John and nodded for him to sit down. The Vietnam veteran cast one final glare at Sora before returning to his chair. As Michonne walked back to her own chair, she looked at Rick, and he nodded in gratitude for what she had said and done.

"Officer Grimes, however, doesn't appear to have the same trouble as I," Sora said as he resumed pacing the restaurant, "Perhaps it is best if Officer Grimes tells you all about our deal, and where exactly he and his group comes from."

Everyone (except for Juan) looked from Sora to Rick.

 _You son of a bitch,_ Rick thought as he glared at Sora. _You agreed to my deal, but you're trying to make me look bad in the eyes of your group! You want them to throw us out, and then you all can lock those doors and spend your lives in this casino!_

Sora smiled smugly at Rick, and then he pulled up a chair from an empty table, sat down, and held his katana like a mechanical figure on a watchtower, waiting for the bell to strike.

"You made a deal, Dad?" Carl asked. "Are we going to be moving here?"

Carl's question brought Rick out of his thoughts. "No, son, we're not."

"Hey, hey. Time out," Frankie said as he made the time-out signal with his hands. "Just where the hell are you guys from?"

"Yeah, and what do you want from us?" Julie asked.

"It better be directions out of town, because what we have, we aim to keep," Harold warned as he drew his Glock 17 pistol and placed it on top of his table.

Across the restaurant, Daryl chewed on the last bite of his sandwich, wiped his hands clean and picked up his crossbow. "Liquor and guns don't mix, Hoss; better holster that pistol while you're still clear-headed," he warned Harold.

Harold looked over his left shoulder and saw Daryl holding his crossbow in his hands. A moment later Harold slowly took his pistol off the table, and re-holstered it.

"All right, everyone calm down. Daryl, lower your crossbow," Rick ordered.

The El Dorado group and the Woodbury group glanced at each other nervously, while the prison group and Sora appeared calm, Juan barely registered that a fight almost broke out. Daryl placed his crossbow across his lap, and everyone looked at Rick.

 _Miyaguchi may have agreed to a deal in private, but he doesn't want to leave this casino and he wants his group to get back on his page and vote us out,_ Rick thought. _I can't be evasive with them; I have to tell them the truth._

"All right, for the El Dorado group, I can assure you that we have no intentions of moving in. What we really came for were supplies."

Harold snorted in amusement. "You should've taken the next exit, Rick, it leads to the supermarket."

The El Dorado group chuckled nervously, while Sora sat and watched silently along with Rick's and John's groups.

Rick nodded as the El Dorado group's laughter faded away. "Thanks, Harold, but now that it's been a full year into the end of the world, I thought places like supermarkets and shopping malls would be cleared out. You guys have made supply runs. I'm sure you've been struggling to find what you need lately."

The El Dorado group glanced at each other again and nodded.

"I was a truck driver before the world went to shit," Harold said. "I made pick-ups and deliveries to stores and warehouses across Atlanta, and I'm running out of places that haven't been ransacked."

"Yeah, it's getting harder to find stuff," Alonso added.

"And most of the people we've lost were during supply runs," Julie said sadly.

The El Dorado group lowered their heads and even dried their eyes as they remembered the people they lost since this place of entertainment became their home. Sora however, didn't even blink.

"They're good people," Amare smiled as he gestured towards his group. "They found me when they went to a police station to pick up some guns."

"Were you on the crapper that time, too?" John quipped.

"No man, I saw Sam drive up in his rig, and I….well…" Amare's voice trailed off, and he lowered his head again.

"Well what?" Karen asked.

Amare looked up at her and said. "I…I couldn't deal with being alone anymore."

Nearly everyone in the restaurant lowered their heads in understanding at Amare's fear of being alone; the exceptions were Sora, who remained stoic; and Juan, who was staring at his empty bottle of Dos Equis.

Rick waited a few moments before he raised his head and resumed his speech. "I talked with Mr. Miyaguchi during our card game and I told him my people and I are here for food and gasoline. I also made him an offer: if we're given the supplies we need, you all may join us."

The El Dorado group looked at Sora, who sat still as a wax figure. They then glanced at each other, and Singleton looked at Rick. "Joining you where?" he asked.

Rick looked at Carl, Michonne, and Daryl: Carl and Michonne nodded, but Daryl shook his head. Rick looked at Singleton and answered, "A prison."

The El Dorado group looked at each other again and began muttering worriedly. Sora sat still as a wax figure.

Rick looked at Carl and Michonne, who were both waiting for the casino group to make their decision, and then he looked at Daryl, who huffed angrily. _I've got to win them over and force Miyaguchi to accept the deal,_ Rick thought.

"A prison?" Frankie asked in disbelief. "That's where you guys are hiding out?"

"Yes," Rick answered with a nod. "At the time I thought it was best not to give Mr. Miyaguchi details, but that's our home now."

"Are you saying you don't trust him?" Alonso asked as he thumbed over his shoulder towards his group's leader.

"I'm saying I don't know him," Rick answered.

Sora raised his head slightly, as if he were insulted by Rick's honesty.

"But…the important thing is you've got walls, right?" Alonso asked.

"We do. And we have a new gate; just installed it yesterday," Rick said as he looked down and winked at Carl.

"Walls, a fence, a gate, and land; sounds like heaven," Harold smiled.

The El Dorado group muttered amongst themselves excitedly. Rick glanced down at Carl and Michonne, and they both looked up at him hopefully. Rick looked over at Daryl, but he seemed irritated, like he didn't like the idea of a compromise with Sora.

 _I don't care what you think about this deal, Daryl, we need those supplies,_ Rick thought.

"Hey, If you have a prison, there's got to be inmates," Amare said worriedly.

Rick thought back to finding the five surviving inmates locked inside the prison cafeteria: Tomas, Andrew, Big Tiny, Oscar, and Axel. "No, not anymore," he answered.

John laughed and everyone in the restaurant looked at him. "That's a matter of opinion," he said.

Rick glared at John; so did Carl, Michonne, and Daryl.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Harold asked.

"Why don't you ask Sam?" John answered as he pointed at his fellow Woodburian. "Better yet, ask him how he got those bruises on his face."

The El Dorado group looked at Sam, who blushed and pulled his slouch hat down over his face to cover up his bruises.

"Who beat you, Sam?" Julia asked gently.

From underneath the brim of his hat, Sam looked at Julia. A fire lit in his eyes and he sat up straight. "It was him!" he shouted as he pointed an accusatory finger at Rick.

The El Dorado group began muttering amongst each other more loudly and more worriedly. Rick looked at Sora and saw he was still seated, but smiling like a cat that caught a canary.

"You beat this old guy?" Frankie asked Rick in disbelief.

"You son of a bitch," Alonso spat at Rick.

"He's just an old man, Rick," Harold said in a tone that sounded like a disappointed friend.

"Did you beat people when you were a cop, too?" Julia asked angrily.

"I never beat a suspect in my entire career," Rick answered firmly.

Floyd pounded his fist on the table suddenly, making Sam leap in his chair, and Juan sit up straight. Floyd's bottle of beer tipped over and the contents spilled across the table.

"But you did put a gun to my head!" Floyd shouted at Rick.

Julia gasped and covered her mouth with her hand, while the rest of the El Dorado group looked at Rick like he was a monster; from his chair, Sora grinned.

Carl, Michonne, and Daryl glared at Sam and Floyd, but they were too flush with courage to notice.

"You are a fucking klutz," John muttered angrily at Floyd as he took his napkin and dabbed it onto the puddle of spilled beer.

"I can…I can explain all of that," Rick stammered.

"I do not believe explanations are necessary, Officer Grimes," Sora said as he stood up from his chair. "While your offer to let us join your prison in exchange for supplies was tempting, I have decided it would be best that we remain here."

Rick's hands dropped to his sides and they balled into fists. _You're showing your hand now,_ he thought.

"You and your group may stay the night, but in the morning return to your prison; you may take the gasoline you all will need for the journey, but you all will not take any food," Sora announced.

Carl and Michonne stood up and put their hands on their weapons while Daryl slid off the table and raised his crossbow. Singleton stood up too and began to draw his pistol from its holster.

At the Woodburian's two tables, Floyd, Sam, Tyreese, and Karen watched the standoff nervously; John drew his pistol discretely, while Juan watched as beads of sweat formed on his head. _Por favor, Dios. Not again,_ he thought.

Daryl whistled and Harold looked over his shoulder slowly and saw the redneck aiming down the barrel of his crossbow. The truck driver nodded, and raised his hands slowly in defeat.

"All right, everyone stay calm. What Sam and Floyd said was true…partially." Rick said.

The El Dorado group and Woodbury group began to relax slowly, but Sora remained stoic. Michonne placed a hand on Carl's shoulder, he looked up at her, and she nodded. Carl sat down in his chair, and Michonne sat down beside him.

"There seems to be more truth than fiction in their tales, Officer Grimes," Sora retorted.

"I can explain myself."

"It is too late for that."

"We made a deal, Mr. Miyaguchi."

"I have reconsidered."

Rick's fingernails cut into the palms of his hand and his eyes turned red as he glared at Sora. "What was all that bullshit about 'the grains of sand in the hourglass' running out on this casino?"

"The fact about an hourglass that most people forget, Officer Grimes, is that they can be turned over and refilled," Sora explained. "What my associates and I really need are people, and perhaps we have found some recruits in your group, especially with these two men you assaulted recently."

Rick shook his head in disgust. _And that's the ace you've been hiding up your sleeve,_ he thought.

Floyd's and Sam's eyes lit up like Broadway at the sound of Sora's offer of sanctuary. John's, Tyreese's and Karen's jaws dropped in disbelief, while Juan was finally giving the debate between Rick and Sora his undivided attention.

Carl glared at Sora. Michonne glared at Floyd and Sam. Daryl spat onto the carpeted floor in contempt.

"No shit?" Sam asked excitedly.

"You're…you're kidding, right?" Floyd stammered in disbelief.

"Hardly," Sora answered with a warm smile.

"Did you hear that, John?" Floyd asked as he turned towards the self-proclaimed leader of the Woodburians. "We can stay here, in a brand new casino!"

John leapt up so quickly, his chair fell over. "I can't stay here!" he cried.

"Why the hell not?"

"Because Donna is waiting for me back at the prison!"

"Do not worry," Sora said as he stood up from his chair. "Your wife is welcome to join you here. And, if anyone else has loved ones back at the prison, they are welcome here, too. I am sure Officer Grimes will be relieved to have fewer lives to feed and to protect."

"This isn't right!" Carl shouted as he leapt out of his chair.

For the first time, a surprised look appeared on Sora's face.

Michonne stood up again, but before she could speak to Carl, Rick placed a hand on his son's shoulder to get his attention. "It's all right, Carl. I'll—"

"Do you want to want to know what _really_ happened between my dad and those two cowards?" Carl interrupted.

Sora sighed irritably. "I have heard enough—"

"He," Carl interrupted, pointing at Sam, "tried to steal our guns!"

"What?! Hey, I had to! Wait! I mean, I didn't…" Sam stammered.

"And he," Carl interrupted again, and this time he was pointing at Floyd, "tried to kill my dad!"

"But I didn't know…I mean, I thought he was…"Floyd pleaded.

"If Mr. Boyd hadn't been looking out for those two cowards they would've been dead a long time ago!"

"I can't argue with that," John grinned as he looked at Floyd and Sam.

"My dad took Mr. Boyd and his people into the prison. I was angry when he did," Carl said. "I don't trust Mr. Boyd, Sam, and Floyd, but I don't think all of his people are bad.

"I do know Tyreese," Carl said as he looked at the former NFL player. "I saved him and his sister Sasha from walkers when they snuck inside the prison. They're good. They're brave. They help us keep the prison safe.

"If you want Sam and Floyd to stay in this casino so badly, how about we make a new deal? Them for the good people in your group!"

Carl—his anger vented—fell silent, but he kept glaring at Sora. Everyone in the restaurant looked at the boy. Rick and Michonne appeared proud. Daryl appeared amused. Sora appeared furious, the others appeared to be surprised.

After a few moments, Sora looked at Rick and said, "Perhaps I have been too hospitable. Perhaps it would best if all of you just vacated—"

"Excuse me, Boss?" Harold asked cautiously.

"Yes, Mr. Singleton?"

"I believe the boy."

Sora looked at his second-in-command and blinked. "You do?"

"The boy stood up for his daddy, and wouldn't back down when he was told to."

"Is that all?"

The truck driver glared at Sam and Floyd like he recognized them as a pair of men who had cut him off on the highway that morning. "Well, those two didn't exactly talk like a pair of angels, did they?"

"Hey, I wasn't going to hurt the kid!" Sam shouted as he stood up from his chair.

"And I was scared!" Floyd shouted as he stood up too. "We were being attacked by walkers! I didn't know it was Rick!"

Carl flashed a victorious smile, while the expressions on Rick's and Michonne's faces grew prouder. John, still seated, shook his head at Floyd's and Sam's stupidity.

The El Dorado group glanced at each other. Julia wrung her hands together and said, "Mr. Miyaguchi. I…I think you should take Rick's offer."

Sora looked at Julia and blinked; his mouth dropped open slightly. "Excuse me?" he asked.

"Well, the casino is safe and all. But it's in the city, and..." Julia explained nervously.

"I think Julia's right, sir," Alonso said. "There's just six of us left. Rick's people broke in like that (Alonso snapped his fingers for emphasis) and there's a city filled with walking corpses outside the doors."

"We should leave with Rick and his group," Amare said with a nod.

"Yeah," Frankie agreed eagerly. "Pardon my French, but let's get the fuck out of here."

Sora looked at his second-in-command and asked, "What is your opinion, Mr. Singleton?"

Harold looked at the other members of the El Dorado group, turned to his leader, and answered. "If we're ever going to leave this casino, this deal—and that cop—are the best chances we've got."

Rick was careful not to show any emotions, but he thought, _I've got them._

Sora gripped his sheathed katana tightly, closed his eyes, and lowered his head. As the Japanese gambler meditated, everyone in the restaurant waited patiently for his decision.

After a few minutes, Sora raised his head, opened his eyes, and stared ahead with conviction. "For the past sixteen years I have made a career out of playing the odds. Sometimes the odds were in my favor, sometimes they were not.

"When the Oni arrived in Atlanta, the El Dorado's executives and most of its guests fled out into the unknown. I stayed. I stayed because I played the odds and I knew the best chance for survival was to stay here, and I was right. Our previous leaders are dead, but I survived, so have you all…my associates."

Sora turned towards his group, looked at them for a few moments, and said, "I do not agree with all of you that leaving the El Dorado is our best chance for survival, but if it is what all of you want, I—as your leader—must consent."

Sora looked at Rick and asked, "Officer Grimes, if the deal you offered me earlier still stands…I accept it."

Rick looked back at Sora. _It pains you to say that doesn't it, you son of a bitch?_ He thought, but Rick smiled and said, "It certainly is."

"Good," Sora said in the tone of a man accepting bad news, "you and your group enjoy your dinner. Julia!"

"Yes?" Julia asked.

"When our guests finish their dinner, show them to their rooms."

"Got it," Julia said with a thumbs-up.

"Mr. Tatum," Sora said.

Amare flinched in his chair and looked wide-eyed at his group's leader. "Yes, sir?"

"You will resume guard duty."

"Yes, sir."

"And when Frank relives you in the morning, I would appreciate it if you stopped by my office."

Amare gulped fearfully, and lowered his head as Sora walked out of the restaurant.

Singleton got out of his chair, slung his MK 18 Mod 0 assault carbine over his shoulder, and looked down at Amare. "I'll talk to him," the truck driver said.

Amare smiled nervously and nodded in appreciation at Singleton, who smiled in return and walked out of the restaurant.

Julia was the next one from the El Dorado group to get out of her chair. "All right, who's finished their sandwiches?"

"Me!" Carl said as he raised his hand.

"I am," John said.

"Same here," Karen said.

Tyreese nodded.

"I'm pretty much done," Sam said, staring at the last bite of grilled chicken sandwich.

Daryl, sitting on his table with his crossbow across his lap, grunted in the affirmative.

"Good. I'll show you all to your rooms," Julia said.

Julia picked her Ithaca 37 "stakeout" shotgun up from the floor, rested the long barrel against her shoulder like she was about to enter a shooting range, and waited for the others to collect their things.

Tyreese and Karen got out of their chairs, and picked their weapons up from the floor. John, Floyd, and Sam stood up and picked up their jackets from the backs of their chairs. Daryl slid off his table, slung his crossbow over his back, picked up his poncho, and tucked it under his arm.

Floyd slipped his jacket on and noticed that Juan was staring at his half empty bottle of Dos Equis beer. "Are you coming, Juan?"

Juan blinked a few times and looked up at Floyd. "Si, un minuto."

Floyd patted Juan's shoulder and left the table along with John and Sam.

Daryl walked across the restaurant, and as he was going passed Rick, he muttered, "This is a Goddamn mistake."

 _That's what I'm afraid of,_ Rick thought as he watched Daryl follow Julia, Tyreese, Karen, and the Woodburians out of the restaurant.

"Well, I need a new bottle," Frankie said as he stood up and swirled his empty bottle of Bud Light. "Watch my plate, Alonso?"

"Uh, yeah, Frankie," Alonso said, slightly annoyed he was being made to guard a half-eaten sandwich in a nearly empty restaurant.

As Frankie walked out of the restaurant, Rick turned around and looked at Carl and Michonne, the mysterious woman had slung her sheathed katana over her back and was bundling up her hooded cape.

"You really have to try one of those sandwiches, Dad," Carl said.

Rick shrugged. "I don't have much of an appetite right now, Carl."

"Give it a shot," Michonne said with a smile. "It was great to eat real food after…I can't remember how long."

"Okay, okay. But you two should go upstairs, find some beds and get some sleep."

"Can't I stay here a while, Dad?" Carl asked.

"You've already ate, Carl, and if you're going to stay in a restaurant after you've eaten that's considered loitering, and that's a crime," Rick answered with a smile.

"Yeah, but I'd like to stay and talk with you. That is…if that's okay."

Rick smiled bashfully and looked at Michonne. "I can't refuse that request, can I?"

Michonne smiled in return. "No, you can't."

Rick reached behind his back, pulled out his Glock 19 with the Maglite suppressor, and placed it on the table; then he removed his jacked, draped it over a chair, and sat down. Michonne smiled as she looked at Rick sitting next to Carl, and then she walked out of the restaurant.

"Can I get you something to eat, Officer?" Alonso asked.

"Please, if it's not any trouble," Rick answered.

"No trouble at all," Alonso said as he stood up and walked towards the kitchen door. "I didn't survive all this shit just to stare at some lazy Italian kid's sandwich."

Alonso stepped inside the kitchen, leaving Rick, Carl, Amare, and Juan the only survivors inside the restaurant.

•••

Amare noticed that Juan still hadn't touched his own sandwich, so the young ADA stood up, walked over to Juan's table, and sat down.

"Are you okay, sir? I mean, señor?" Amare asked.

Juan looked at the young black man and smiled. "I speak English fine. And sí, I am okay."

"So why do you look so down?"

Juan blinked. "I look depressed?"

Amare chuckled. "If anyone ought to be depressed it's me."

"Why do you say that?"

Amare looked around the restaurant and seeing the coast was clear, leaned closer to Juan. "Well, Miyaguchi's a good leader, but he's damn strict when it comes to failure. If I'm lucky, Sam'll talk him into putting a cane to my ass."

Juan looked at Rick, listening to his son talk excitedly. "Sí, if you're lucky," he muttered.

Amare blinked. "What the hell's that supposed to mean?"

Juan gestured at Rick. "Do you trust him?"

Amare looked to his left at Rick, and looked back at Juan. "Yeah, I guess. I mean, Rick could've killed me, but he didn't."

"Sí, he didn't kill you. Not yet."

Amare's eyes widened. "What?"

For a moment, Juan thought about the night he followed Philip into that camp of survivors. He had been so trusting, so naïve.

"Is Rick keeping secrets? Secrets my people should know about?" Amare asked worriedly.

Amare's question pulled Juan out of his memories. He leaned forward and held the young man's wrist. "When are you relieved from guard duty?" he asked.

"Eleven o'clock. Why?"

"Meet me here at that time and I'll tell you everything."


	16. Chapter 16

**CHAPTER 16**

DING!

Three of the five sets of elevator doors opened and there passengers were greeted to the sight of medium sized lobby, where clay flower pots holding Dahlia Pinnatas (the national flower of Mexico) stood in the corners, and on the wall was a framed painting of an Aztec temple at the pinnacle of the Aztec Empire.

Julia, Daryl, and Michonne had traveled in the middle elevator.

John, Floyd, and Sam traveled in the elevator on the left.

Tyreese and Karen traveled in the elevator on the right.

"Here we are: the eighth floor," Julia said cheerfully as she stepped out of the elevator; in her right hand she held her Ithaca 37 "stakeout" shotgun by its barrel, and in her left hand she held a plastic desk tray that contained several key cards.

Daryl and Michonne glanced at each other, and a moment later Daryl slung his crossbow off his shoulder and held the weapon by its grip, while Michonne reached over her shoulder, held onto the handle of her katana, and pulled the blade out of its scabbard by a few inches.

Julia stood profile and watched in disbelief as Daryl and Michonne stepped out of the elevator and watched both ends of the hallway cautiously. "Hey! What are-don't you guys trust us?"

Daryl looked at Julia, and nodded.

"We trust you and your people…your boss however is another matter," Michonne answered before sliding her partially drawn katana back into its scabbard.

The anger in Julia's eyes vanished and she smiled apologetically. "Yeah, Miyaguchi is a good leader, but when it comes to giving people a second chance…" the young woman's voice trailed off and she looked down at the carpeted floor wistfully.

John, Floyd, and Sam stepped out of their elevator; Tyreese and Karen stepped out of there's too. All five of them heard Julia and Michonne's conversation.

"It sounded like your leader is going to punish that kid," John said.

"Miyaguchi says the punishment fits the infraction," Julia explained.

"So what's the punishment for failing to guard this casino?" Michonne asked.

Julia looked at Michonne, and then she looked at the floor again.

Michonne watched Julia's reaction and she thought back to the Governor, and how he ran Woodbury through lies, fear, and violence. "That son of a bitch," she spat.

John grinned at Floyd and asked, "Still want to stay here, buddy?"

Floyd looked down at the floor, and huffed sadly.

"I'll take that as a no," John said, as he adjusted the brim of his Atlanta Braves baseball cap.

"I'm sorry that I upset all of you, but I'm really glad you're all here," Julia admitted. "And it's not just because Miyaguchi's a hard ass about the rules. If we stay here much longer, we'll die.

"We'd peek out the windows and watch as thousands of geeks staggered down the highway all day, and we couldn't sleep because we could hear them growling all night! All the people we've lost…it's because of where we live.

"Harold's been trying to talk Miyaguchi into all of us packing up and trying our luck somewhere else, but Miyaguchi's too stubborn, and the others are too scared."

"I'm sorry for what you and your people went through," Tyreese said. "Me and my sister Sasha came here from Florida, and all I can remember from the trip is the running, the hiding, and the people we lost along the way."

A tear ran down Julia's cheek and she wiped it away with a fingertip. "Thank you," she said as her voice cracked with grief. A few moments later she smiled and looked at the group of strangers. "Well, you all must be tired right?"

"We're dead on our feet," John quipped with his hands now on his hips.

"Don't joke around, man," Tyreese said in a serious tone.

"I'm not. We're all tired, at least I am," John retorted.

Julia tucked her Ithaca 37 "stakeout" shotgun under her left arm, and took the desk tray with the room cards in both hands. "Follow me," she said with the cheer back in her voice.

Julia turned to her right and walked out of the lobby, Michonne, Daryl, and the Woodburians followed her. After a few steps, the cocktail waitress stopped at a locked hotel room door on her left.

"First stop!" Julie announced as she took a room card from the desk tray. "Two beds to a room. Don't move the curtains because it'll attract the geeks, and don't turn on the flat screen TV because it drains power. "

"I'll take it," John said as he brushed his way through the crowd and took the room card from Julia. John inserted the card into the door's lock system, and with his free hand, he took hold of the door's handle, turned it, and pushed the door open.

John reached inside the dark hotel room for the light switch, his hand found it against the wall, and he flicked the switch on: the light revealed two made beds in the room, facing a wooden table with a flat screen TV and a remote control atop it. A window took up the far wall, and its curtain covered what would've shown a lovely view of the Atlanta skyline.

John stepped back into the hallway and looked at his group of Woodburians. "No hard feelings, Floyd?" he asked.

Floyd shook his head. "Whatever, man. I just want a soft bed to sleep in."

The retired postal worker walked past John and entered the hotel room.

"When's reveille?" John asked.

"Probably six o'clock," Michonne answered. "I'm sure Rick will want us to gather up as much gas and supplies as we can before we're spotted by walkers...or another group of survivors."

John nodded, took off his Atlanta Braves cap, and for the first time he looked old and weary. "Well, pleasant dreams," he said tiredly as he stepped back into the hotel room and closed the door.

"Moving along," Julia said happily as she resumed walking along the hallway, her shotgun still tucked under her arm and the desk tray filled with key cards in her hands.

Michonne adjusted the strap of her katana's scabbard slung over her back, tucked her bundled up hooded cape close to her side, and followed Julia; a moment later Daryl and the three remaining Woodburians followed.

Julia stopped at another locked hotel room and took a key card from the desk tray, "Next," she said.

Tyreese glanced down at Karen and asked with a good natured grin, "Can we go co-ed?"

"Oh, my God," Karen muttered in embarrassment as she covered her face with the palm of her hand.

Julia was not amused by Tyreese's request. "Sorry. Mr. Miyaguchi is very strict about…how does he put it…? "nonmarital relationships"."

Tyreese shrugged. "Maybe next time, Karen."

"In your dreams, Mr. All-American," Karen quipped as she took her hand away from her face.

Tyreese grinned again, and he stepped forward and took the key card from Julia.

"Can I room with you, Ty?" Sam asked.

"No prob, Sam," Tyreese answered as he unlocked the hotel room door, turned its handle and pushed the door open. Tyreese then flipped the light switch on, and he looked over his shoulder, nodded apologetically at Karen, and stepped inside the hotel room; Sam followed the former NFL player inside and closed the door.

"Moving along," Julia said happily as she walked along the hallway; Michonne, Daryl, and Karen followed her.

Julia stopped at another locked hotel room and selected a key card. "I think you girls should take this one," she said.

Michonne took the key card, nodded her thanks to Julia, and looked at Daryl. "See you in the morning," she said.

Daryl nodded.

Michonne unlocked the hotel room door, turned its handle, and pushed the door open; a moment later Michonne turned on the light and stepped inside the hotel room.

"Good night," Karen said warmly to Daryl and Julia as she walked towards the open hotel room door.

Daryl grunted, and Julia smiled.

Karen stepped inside the hotel room and closed the door.

Julia faced Daryl and he held out his hand in anticipation of an offered key card. The cocktail waitress took one of the last two cards from the desk tray and looked it over as if it were a baseball card.

"I'll give this one to Rick, I'm sure he'd want his son to room with him tonight," Julia said.

"Great, so where's mine?" Daryl asked impatiently.

Julia smiled and dropped the card back into the desk tray, a moment later she dropped the tray and her shotgun to the carpeted floor.

"Hey!" Daryl shouted in disbelief.

Daryl bent down to pick up one of the key cards, but Julia's hands were on his shoulders and she pushed him up gently to his full height.

"You can spend the night with me," Julia cooed.

Daryl's eyes widened and he dropped his poncho. "What?" he asked in a meek voice.

Julia smile grew broader and she stepped closer to Daryl. "I'm sorry, let me dumb it down: do you want to fuck?"

Daryl grinned. "Damn girl, that's some customer service!"

"I aim to please," Julia smiled.

Julia moved her hands towards Daryl's shirt collar, she undid the top button on his heavy shirt, and she slid her hands up his neck, and her fingertips touched his hair.

"You said your boss didn't like couples who weren't hitched to be fuckin'," Daryl said as he put his hands on Julia's hips.

"Neither did my dad, but that didn't stop me from sneaking out at night and seeing my boyfriend," Julia replied.

"You're a bad girl."

"Isn't that the best type?"

Daryl chuckled again and looked Julia over; she was a beautiful young woman, with smooth skin, and an hourglass figure; her brunette hair was in a ponytail, and if she loosened it, it would've spilled across her shoulders. He wanted to accept her offer, follow her to her hotel room, and fuck her all night long.

But Julia wasn't Carol, and after Daryl realized that, he started thinking about the older woman: her pale skin that broke out in freckles during the summer months, her pear shaped figure, her short, grey hair that looked soft to touch, and her eyes that were as blue as a clear sky.

In an instant Daryl dropped his hands from Julia's hips.

"Is something wrong, baby?" Julia asked.

"Yeah," Daryl answered.

Julia blinked. "What's that?"

"You."

Julia gasped in shock. "Excuse me?!"

"You ain't my type."

Daryl then brushed Julia aside gently and he bent down to pick up his poncho and a key card.

"I don't believe this!" Julia shouted.

"Do you believe in dead people walkin' around?" Daryl quipped as he stood up.

Julia watched with widened eyes as Daryl walked along the hallway in search for the hotel room number on the key card he selected.

"Do you have a girl back at that prison Rick talked about?" Julia asked as she ran to catch up.

Daryl stopped at the door to his hotel room, and thought about Julia's question. _Is Carol my girl? I had the chance to tell her how I feel yesterday, but I fucked it up. I…I've just got to give it some time. It's like buildin' a bike; you've got to take your time with it if you want it to run right._

"Answer me, you jerk!" Julia demanded as she stomped a foot onto the hallway's carpeted floor.

Daryl unlocked the hotel door room, turned the handle, pushed it open and flipped the light switch on; he looked over his shoulder and said to Julia, "Maybe."

Julia raised her eyebrows, and then she unbuttoned the first top buttons on her blouse to show off her cleavage. "Well, what she doesn't know won't hurt her."

Daryl gave Julia the Finger; then he stepped inside the hotel room, slammed the door, and locked it.

Julia stared in disbelief at the locked hotel room door; then she turned around, buttoned her blouse hurriedly, and stomped down the hallway to pick up her shotgun and the desk tray with the last key card. "Homo," she muttered angrily.

•••

In the El Dorado Resturante, Rick sat at his and Carl's table, waiting patiently for his grilled chicken sandwich to arrive; Carl sat beside him, taking a sip of from his glass of Coca-Cola. Frankie had returned to with a new bottle of Bud Light and was seated at his table, eating his grilled chicken sandwich. Juan and Amare sat at their own table, both of them brooding on their conversation about Rick later tonight.

Alonso stepped out of the kitchen while holding in one hand a dish with a grilled chicken sandwich, and in his other hand a cold bottle of Dos Equis beer.

"Enjoy your meal, officer, and help yourself to a bottle of Dos Equis, the official beer of El Dorado!" Alonso smiled. "Only don't tell the other patrons that Dos Equis wasn't created by the Aztecs, I don't want to get sued."

Rick chuckled and said, "Your secret is safe with me, Alonso."

Alonso placed the dish with the grilled chicken sandwich on the table; he took a bottle opener from his back pocket, placed it alongside the bottle's cap, and with a flick of his wrist, removed the cap. Alonso placed the open beer bottle on the table beside the dish, and returned the bottle opener to his back pocket.

"I'll be cleaning the kitchen, but when you're finished just call out and I'll come get the dish."

"You've gone to a lot of trouble for my people; the least I can do is wash the dishes."

Alonso smiled again and placed a hand on Rick's shoulder. "It's no trouble. After all, you're the man who's going to lead us to freedom, right?"

Rick nodded; Alonso patted the sheriff's deputy's shoulder, and returned to the kitchen. Rick looked at Carl and said, "These people will be moving into a prison tomorrow, and he calls it freedom." Rick then shook his head in disbelief.

Carl smiled too at his father's statement.

Rick picked up the grilled chicken sandwich with both hands, brought it up to his mouth, and took a bite.

The grilled chicken sandwich tasted delicious.

"Good, huh?" Carl asked.

Rick nodded as he chewed.

"Told you," Carl smiled proudly.

Rick chuckled despite his mouthful of food and after chewing it a little more, he swallowed it.

 _I almost can't believe it; I'm eating a real sandwich!_ Rick thought. _Daryl's done a great job bringing in game for the group, and Carol's been a great cook, but this isn't squirrel, or deer; its chicken! And it was cooked by a professional chef!_

Rick brought the sandwich up to his mouth again, took another bite, and chewed eagerly. With that second bite he noticed the taste of the sandwich's bun, the slices of lettuce and tomato, and the honey mustard sauce. Rick closed his eyes, smiled with joy, and after chewing on his food for a few moments, he swallowed it.

Rick put the rest of his chicken sandwich down on its plate and picked up the bottle of Dos Equis. Rick examined the bottle's label and glanced down at Carl's half empty class of Coca-Cola.

 _I should've asked for a Coke too,_ Rick thought as he looked again at his bottle of beer. _The last time I drank alcohol was that night in the CDC, when we all thought we had beaten the dead and we were going to find some answers about what happened._

Rick's mind drifted to that night: his family along with Shane Walsh, his partner on the King County sheriff's department, and the group of strangers he'd met at a quarry outside Atlanta, were sitting around a table in the CDC's cafeteria, eating pasta, drinking wine, and laughing while a quiet Shane and their sullen host Dr. Edwin Jenner watched.

•••

Dale stood at the table, refilling Lori's wine glass. "You know, in Italy, children have a little bit of wine with dinner. And in France."

"Well, when Carl is in Italy or France, he can have some then," Lori said with authority as she accepted her filled wine glass in one hand, and covered the rim of Carl's empty glass with the other.

"What's it gonna hurt? Come on," Rick smiled.

Lori looked at Rick in disbelief, and for a moment it looked like she was about to laugh.

"Come on," Dale chimed in.

Lori took her hand away from Carl's glass with a what-the-hell gesture. Dale picked up the glass and poured a very small amount into it.

"There you are, young lad," Dale said as he offered Carl the glass.

Carl took the glass and everyone at the table (except for Jenner) waited for him to take a sip.

Carl took a sip and put the glass down on the table quickly. "Eww!" he said in disgust.

Everyone at the table (except for Jenner) laughed at Carl's reaction to the wine; Shane smiled a little.

"That's my boy. That's my boy," Lori said, back to being a mom again. She picked up Carl's glass and poured what was left into her wine glass.

Carl shook his head like he was trying to shake the memory out of his mind before it took root. "Yuck. That's nasty."

Rick chuckled and tousled Carl's hair to comfort him.

"Well, just stick to soda pop there, bud," Shane muttered.

•••

The humorous memory of Carl's first taste of alcohol ended, and Rick found himself staring at the appealing bottle of Dos Equis beer in his hand.

 _We thought…no,_ _ **I**_ _thought the CDC would be a sanctuary,_ Rick thought, _the_ _ **one**_ _place where the Government was still up and running, and the one place where we might find_ _ **answers**_ _and a_ _ **cure**_ _._

 _But instead of finding all of those things, we found there was nothing left: no government, no army, and no cure. Then we found out our host was really a madman sitting on a time bomb; Jenner's colleagues had "opted out" and he decided to follow them by staying inside the CDC as its computer counted down to self-destruct! Jenner wanted to take all of us with him, and if I hadn't convinced him into giving us a chance to keep going—and if Carol hadn't kept the grenade she found in my laundry—we never would've gotten out of the CDC before it blew up._

 _We lost Jacqui in that explosion,_ Rick thought, _then we lost Sophia; and after her, I had to kill Shane in self-defense, and shortly after we found the prison I lost Lori, and finally, after we won the war against the Governor, we lost Andrea._

Rick looked again at the Dos Equis beer, and suddenly it didn't look appealing…it looked comforting. Rick brought the bottle to his lips, and took a swig; the beer tasted good.

 _There has to be an end to all of this!_ _An end to all this struggling and dying!_ Rick thought angrily. _Our lives—Carl's and Judith's lives—can't be spent hiding behind walls and living in fear of walkers or men like the Governor! Someday, the dead will stay dead, the bad men will be punished, and society will rebuild itself!_

"Are you okay, Dad?" Carl asked worriedly.

Rick looked at Carl and smiled. "I'm fine, Carl. I'm just…thinking about stuff and things."

The light sounds of chair legs being pushed along the carpeted floor prickled Rick's ears, and looked to his right to see Juan and Amare getting up from their chairs.

"Well, I'll tell you what I think," Carl whispered, "I don't trust those two."

Juan and Amare walked past Rick's and Carl's table on their way to the doorway. Rick saw that Juan cast an angry glance at him, while Amare cast a frightened glance.

Rick looked at Carl, took a second swig of beer, and put the bottle down on the table. "I know how you feel about the Woodburians, well, most of them anyway, but what's wrong with Amare?"

"He and Juan were just whispering," Carl explained as he spoke at a regular level again.

"Did you hear what they were saying?"

"No, but maybe they were whispering about you."

Rick considered Carl's theory for a moment. "Maybe," he nodded.

"Murbe dur whur whizpurink rbot Mirrgurki," Frankie interrupted with a mouthful of food.

Rick—annoyed that Frankie talked with a full mouth, and that Frankie was intruding on his conversation with Carl—asked, "What did you say?"

Frankie swallowed his food, took a breath, and replied, "Maybe they were whispering about Miyaguchi."

Rick doubted Frankie's theory was correct, but in the interest of being civil, he said, "Maybe that too."

Carl shook his head in disbelief. "Why would they whisper about Miyaguchi?"

"Because that guy's a hard-ass," Frankie explained. "We had two leaders before him, both bigwigs with the casino; the first got killed with most of a group he led outside on a supply run, and the second couldn't hack it, so he hanged himself in his office. You won't believe what happened to the poor bastard that found him hanging from the closet door and cut him down."

"Oh, I can believe it," Rick quipped before he brought the bought of Dos Equis beer up to his lips and took a swig.

Frankie took another bite of his grilled chicken sandwich, chewed, swallowed, and resumed talking. "Anyway, we had a job opening again, but no one took it, except for Miyaguchi. I've got to admit, that Jap knows how to organize; food and water was rationed, electricity usage was put on a schedule, all of us were assigned jobs, he even made us clean the casino to boost morale!"

"But…" Rick said cynically.

Frankie put down the rest of his sandwich, took a swig from his bottle of Bud Light, and wiped his lips clean with the back of his hand. "Like I said, the guy's a hard-ass. I mean, people have been calling me "Frankie" for as long as I can remember, but Genghis Khan insists that everyone call me "Frank". It pisses me off."

Rick sighed wearily at Frankie's trivial complaint; he closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Anything more serious than that?" he asked.

"Yeah, that samurai sword he carries around…it's not for show," Frankie answered. "I was with him when he found it in that pawn shop and I watched him try it out on a couple of geeks; I don't know if everyone in the Far East grew up swinging those swords like baseball bats, but he fucking carved those geeks up like a turkey!

"But the sick part is he's used that sword on our people! If somebody fucks up on the job, or gets out of line, they get a private meeting with the shogun!"

"That's crazy!" Carl shouted. "Miyaguchi kills people for making mistakes and the rest of you let him get away with it?!"

"Hey, kid, the fucker is our boss!" Frankie retorted. "He kept us safe for this long, and if he had to chop a few heads to do it, then it never bothered my sleep!"

"Carl," Rick said firmly as he looked at his son.

Carl lowered his head and clenched his fists in a clear display that he was still angry.

Rick looked at Frankie, and he shot a glare at the younger man. "I know we're uninvited guests, and I'm sure you're upset over the deaths of your friends, but don't ever speak in that tone to my son again."

Frankie's complexion turned pale. "Yes sir," he said as he nodded quickly.

"Now, does Miyaguchi plan to execute Amare?" Rick asked.

"Maybe," Frankie said as he picked up his sandwich, "but Miyaguchi listens to Harold…sometimes, so if Amare's lucky he'll just get his ass caned like that kid who vandalized a car in Singapore a couple of years ago."

"I'm not going to let Miyaguchi execute that kid," Rick said firmly.

Frankie took the last bites of his sandwich, chewed and swallowed, and drank it down with a swig of Bud Light beer. He stood up, bottle in hand, and walked towards the doorway. "Well, good luck with that. Only don't get yourself killed before you get us the fuck out of this casino."

When Frankie walked out of the restaurant, Rick looked at Carl and said, "He's gone."

"Good," Carl replied, still looking down at his plate of crumbs.

"So do think this is another Woodbury situation?" Rick asked.

Carl raised his head and answered, "A little."

Rick nodded. "So do you think we should leave these people here?"

Carl thought his father's question over for a minute, and answered, "No."

"Why did you say that?"

Carl looked up at his father and said, "Alonso can cook."

Rick chuckled and picked up his sandwich. "Yes, he can. What do you think about the others?"

"Well, I think Frankie is an idiot and he'll get somebody killed. That lawyer Amare is a wuss, but he could toughen up like Glenn did. The big guy Harold looks strong, so I think he could help us keep the prison safe. Julia's a girl, but she's okay. And their leader, Sora, he's an asshole."

Rick stopped chewing his food to give Carl a stern look. The young boy frowned. "I'm sorry, Dad. I didn't mean to swear."

Rick swallowed his food and his face softened. "It's all right, Carl. I don't like him either. Just watch your mouth from now on."

"Okay, Dad."

Rick another bite of his sandwich, and drank it down with a swig of beer. Carl watched his father enjoy his meal.

We need supplies, Carl, and I thought this brand new casino was the best place to get them," Rick explained. "I didn't expect there'd be survivors here, so I made a deal with Miyaguchi; the supplies in exchange for moving into the prison."

Carl nodded. "I get it, Dad."

"It's a big prison, so I don't think we'll see much of Miyaguchi."

"Yeah," Carl agreed.

"Look on the bright side: in the morning you can look around for that guitar you wanted."

"Oh, it's not for me!" Carl blurted out.

Rick blinked. "What?"

"Uh…It's not for me," Carl muttered.

"If it's not for you, son, then who's it for?"

Carl blushed and lowered his head again. "Uh, Dad. I…I really like Beth."

Rick's jaw dropped and he stared at Carl. The young boy looked up at his father, expecting to be criticized at any moment, but he said nothing. Finally, a chuckle burst from Rick's open mouth, and a stream of laughter followed.

"What's so funny?" Carl asked, his embarrassment vanished and replaced by anger.

"I'm sorry, Carl. I'm sorry," Rick said as he struggled to control his laughter. "It's just that with everything I have to worry about, you having a crush on a girl was something that I never thought about."

Carl blinked. "You're…you're not mad?"

"Why should I be mad that you like Beth? Oh, excuse me, that you **really** like Beth?"

"Well, Beth's seventeen. I'm thirteen. She's kind of...you know…"

"Old?" Rick suggested.

Carl closed his eyes and lowered his head. "Yeah," he muttered.

After a minute of silence, Rick said, "Carl."

Carl looked up at his father.

"Can I tell you something?" Rick asked.

Carl nodded.

"I…never gave much thought about the day this topic would come up; when I did think about it I pictured your mother would do most of the talking, but I…I think she'd tell you that Beth is a sweet girl, and you should get to know her better."

Carl considered his father's words for a moment and asked, "But what do **you** think, Dad?"

Rick thought while tapping the bottle of Dos Equis beer with his fingertips. "I think getting Beth a guitar was a great idea. I also think you should get to know Beth better. Maybe she feels the same about you."

Carl smiled. "Thanks, Dad."

Rick smiled and patted Carl on the shoulder. "You're welcome, son. Oh, can I tell you something else?"

"What?"

"Thanks for telling Miyaguchi and his people the truth about Floyd and Sam."

Carl smiled. "You're welcome, Dad."

"That's the second time you've stuck up for me," Rick said.

"We're family; it's what we do," Carl explained.

Rick smiled. "That's right, son."

Hurried footsteps echoed from the hallway; Rick and Carl looked at the doorway to see Julia stomping through the waiting room, and into the restaurant. The cocktail waitress had a scowl on her face, her fists were clenched, and in her right fist she held a key card.

"Here's your key card! Good night!" Julia shouted as she slammed the item onto the table, Rick and Carl winced.

Rick picked up the key card and watched as Julia turned around and stomped out of the restaurant. "Uh…thank you…" he said bewilderedly.

"What's wrong with her?" Carl asked.

Rick looked at Carl and shrugged.

•••

Juan was sleeping on one of the sofas in the lobby when a hand touched his shoulder and shook him awake.

"Ahh!" Juan shouted as he sat up with his eyes wide open.

The hand touched Juan's shoulder again, and a voice said, "Shhh."

Juan rubbed his eyes and looked up to see the lights in the lobby were on and Harold was standing over him. The truck driver's MK18 Mod 0 assault carbine was missing, but he still had his Glock 17 pistol holstered at his side.

"Juan, right?" Harold asked.

"Sí," Juan answered.

"You've got something to tell Amare, right?"

"Sí," Juan answered again.

Harold stepped back and pointed a thumb over his shoulder. "Let's go," he said.

"Wh…where are we going?" Juan asked as he stood up from the sofa.

Harold didn't reply and walked towards the five pairs of elevator doors with the profile of an Aztec temple carved into them.

Juan stood up and teetered left and right; when he lifted his feet to walk they felt as heavy as cinderblocks. How long had he slept? Juan looked over his shoulder at the large clock with Roman numerals above the front desk; he guessed he'd slept for twenty-five minutes.

The large clock reminded Juan that he was supposed to meet with Amare at eleven o'clock, but that was five hours away. Juan looked at the Tavern's doorway and wondered if he should go there or even call out Amare's name.

Harold pressed the 'UP' arrow key to one of the elevators and the doors slid open; he stepped inside the elevator and whistled to get Juan's attention. Juan looked at Harold, walked towards the elevator as quickly as his weary legs could move and stepped inside.

"Where are we going?" Juan asked again.

The doors slid closed and Harold pressed a number key on the elevator control panel. "We're going to a meeting," he answered.

The elevator ascended to the selected floor.

•••

Amare sat nervously in one of the two chairs placed in front of the (deceased) executive's desk. Sora stood behind the desk, his back was to Amare, and he was looking out the window that spanned the wall, and offered a bird's eye view of the poker room. Amare's frightened eyes kept going from Sora's back, to the sheathed katana lying atop the desk.

"I swear to God, Mr. Miyaguchi, Juan's knows a big secret about this Rick Grimes," Amare pleaded.

"Your god is not my god, Mr. Tatum," Sora replied without turning around.

"But…you are going to listen to Juan, right?"

"I will listen to him. And if this alleged secret is useful, your infraction may be forgiven."

Amare squirmed in his chair nervously.

The office doors opened; Harold and Juan (who was now walking normally) stepped inside.

"Thank you, Mr. Singleton," Sora said as he stood profile.

Harold nodded. "No problem, boss."

"What's going on, Amare?" Juan asked.

"I…I'm sorry, Juan, but…after our conversation in the restaurant..."

"You told him?!" Juan interrupted as he stomped towards Amare.

"I had to man!" Amare shouted as he leapt out of his chair. "My neck is on the chopping block!"

"Qué?"Juan asked. "What are you talking about?"

"Gentlemen," Sora said firmly.

Juan and Amare stopped arguing and looked at the casino group's leader.

"Stop arguing. You both are giving me a headache."

Juan and Amare glared at each other for a moment and they both took a step away from each other.

"Sit down, the both of you," Sora said.

Both men sat down in the chairs in front of the desk.

Sora looked at Juan and asked, "What is your surname?"

"Zavala," Juan answered.

"Would you care for a drink, Mr. Zavala?" Sora asked, with his hand pointing at the liquor cabinet to his right.

Juan looked at the liquor cabinet, filled with expensive bottles and crystal drinking glasses. "Uh, Gracias, but I had a beer with my meal," he answered as he looked at Sora.

"I watched you during the dinner and you did not touch your food and barely drank your beer."

Juan looked at the liquor cabinet again; his throat felt dry.

"Have a drink, Mr. Zavala. Put your nerves at ease."

Juan nodded.

"Mr. Singleton, will you pour our guest a glass please?"

Harold nodded and walked over to the liquor cabinet; he chose a bottle of Jim Beam, and poured it into a glass. Harold walked over to Juan, and offered the glass to him. Juan accepted it with both hands.

Juan stared at the glass of golden brown liquid in his hands, brought it to his lips, and took a sip.

The bourbon tasted delicious.

Juan sighed happily and sank in his chair.

"Now," Sora began as he sat down the leather chair behind the desk, "you told Mr. Tatum that you have a secret about Rick Grimes."

"Uh, Sí. I do," Juan said.

Sora put his hands together and placed them on the desk. "Would you care to tell me what that secret is?" he asked.

Juan put his left hand over his fist, coughed, and sat up in his chair. "Well, it's not just about Rick. It's more about Philip; he was the man who led the group my wife and I were first with."

"Oh?"

"Sí. But Rick and Philip are a lot alike."

"Indeed?"

"Sí. I thought Philip was a good leader, everyone in the group did. He found an abandoned town called Woodbury, cleaned it out, put up walls, and kept people safe. I mean, Philip did his best, but sometimes the biters got past the fences and…"

Juan thought about the horrific day that one biter slipped into Woodbury; he took another sip of Jim Beam, and closed his eyes.

A minute later Sora said, "Go on."

Juan opened his eyes and looked at Sora. "Like I said, Philip did his best, and sometimes he did what he thought was best for the group. I know because one time I went with him and this guy Nick…

•••

Juan, Philip, and Nick sat amongst the five young men around the large campfire. Laughter filled the air again, while burgers (which had been burnt) were passed around on paper plates along with bottles of Bud Light. Nick ate and drank greedily, Philip placed his plate and beer at his feet, Juan just held his plate and beer in his hands.

 _Por favor, Dios, don't let Philip kill them,_ Juan thought.

"I appreciate your hospitality, Lance," Philip smiled.

"No sweat, Philip," Lance replied before he took a bite into a hamburger.

Sean nodded at Juan and asked "Hey, dude?"

Juan looked at the college group's chef.

"Aren't you hungry?"

"No," Juan muttered.

"Then why the fuck didn't you say something before?" Sean asked angrily. "I ain't wasting patties on some old guy who came out of nowhere."

Sean stood up, snatched Juan's paper plate from his hand, and held it high in the air. "Anyone want another burnt burger?"

"Me!" Bryant shouted with his hand raised.

Sean handed the paper plate over to Bryant. "Bon appétit, kid."

Philip glared at Luis for a moment, but when he looked at Lance, his affable smile was back. "My friend will get his appetite back soon," Philip said. "In the meanwhile, do you gentlemen have a plan?"

Lance took a swig of Bud Light beer and smiled. "We've got a plan; we stay on this mountain and wait for the radio to announce the all-clear."

Philip raised his eyebrows. "The radio?" he asked.

"Yeah, I'm keeping track of current events with this old radio," Kurt answered as he knocked on the metal box for emphasis. "You wouldn't believe the shit I've heard. It's like something out of a Stephen King book."

"But why stay on this mountain instead of a shelter?" Philip asked.

"Me and the guys used to ride over these mountains on our dirt bikes; I took Bryan up here when he got old enough," Lance explained. "Nobody else comes up here, so why should the geeks?"

"Dirt bikes?" Phiilp asked.

"Yeah, dirt bikes," Lance answered as he pointed a thumb behind his back. "We brought them with us along with plenty of gas. We even ride them during the day!"

"It beats sitting in camp all fucking day," Caden added.

"Well, you gentlemen seem well organized," Philip said. "Maybe we could join your group; help protect the camp."

Lance and his college friends looked at each other and laughed; Bryan kept eating his new hamburger but lowered his head in embarrassment.

"Sorry, Philip. The meal's free, but this camp has no vacancies," Lance quipped.

"Yeah. One day in camp and the three of you will turn into our fathers," Caden added.

"I brought a few of bags of weed up here," Sean said. "I don't want you **old guys** nagging me about doing drugs, or rating me out to the cops when this shit blows over."

Lance and his college friends laughed again; Bryan still looked embarrassed.

"Well, I'm sorry all of you feel that way," Philip said.

"Nothing personal, Philip," Lance said before taking a sip from his bottle of Bud Light.

"There's just one more thing I'd like to ask you," Philip continued.

Lance put his bottle of Bud Light down. "What's that?"

"You told us earlier that you put your weapons away because you were going to eat dinner. If—and I know it's a big if—the biters climb up this mountain, what do you have to defend yourselves?"

"I'm glad you asked." Lance smiled and stood up. "My dad and Kurt's dad were members of the NRA. We cleaned out their collections before we came up here!"

Lance left the campfire and ran into one of the tents pitched in the background. A few moments later he ran back with a bullpup style assault rifle.

"Check this out, it's the Steyr AUG A1 assault rifle!" Lance said happily. "It fires 5.56x45mm ammo and takes a 30-round magazine! I've watched my dad shoot this baby and it's a badass!"

"I took my dad's AKM assault rifle," Kurt said. "It's Russian made, not a cheap Chinese Type 56 knockoff!"

Philip turned to Nick, and nodded. Nick put his half-eaten hamburger down on the ground. Philip then looked at Lance again and smiled. "Well, you gentleman certainly don't need us," he said.

Lance beamed with pride, his friends chuckled. Bryan stopped eating his hamburger and looked at Philip nervously.

Luis felt his heart stop momentarily.

Philip drew his nickel plated Beretta 92SB Compact pistol, aimed it at Lance, and fired.

BLAM!

The bullet hit Lance in the chest; he dropped the Steyr AUG A1 and fell to the ground.

Luis and Bryan screamed in unison.

Lance's college friends leapt to their feet in shock.

Nick grabbed his AR-15 rifle, aimed it at Sean, and fired.

BRAKKA! BRAKKA! BRAKKA!

The first bullet struck Sean in the neck and the head; the last two struck him in the head which burst open like a grapefruit, the rest of Sean's body collapsed to the ground.

Kurt grabbed the radio and used it as a shield. Philip aimed his pistol at him, and fired two shots.

BLAM! BLAM!

The first bullet went through the radio and struck Kurt in the chest; the second bullet struck him in the forehead, and he fell to the ground dead.

Caden put his hands in the air. "Don't kill me! Don't kill me!" he pleaded.

Philip aimed his pistol at Caden and fired.

BLAM!

The bullet struck Caden in the forehead; he flew backwards and landed on his back, dead.

The echoes of the gunfire drifted away, the crackle of the campfire, and Lance's desperate gasps for breath continued. Philip and Nick stood up, while Juan watched wide-eyed. Across from the campfire, Bryan shivered in fear.

Philip looked at the frightened teenager and lowered his pistol. He turned his head to the right. "Nick," he said quietly.

Nick raised his rifle to his shoulder, aimed it at Bryan, and pulled the trigger.

BRAKKA!

The bullet struck Bryan in the forehead, and his head burst open. The rest of his body collapsed to his right at his wounded brother's feet.

"Madre de Dios," Juan whispered as tears ran down his face.

Philip walked around the campfire and stood over Lance, who was lying on his back, gasping for air. Philip saw that the young man had a small, bloody bullet wound in his chest, and blood was trickling out of his mouth; he looked up with shock and fear in his eyes at Philip.

"Not bad for three **old guys** , huh?" Philp asked.

Rather than wait for a reply, Philip aimed his pistol at Lance's forehead, and pulled the trigger.

BLAM!

The bullet went through Lance's forehead, and a small, thin stream of blood and brain matter shot up into the air and just missed hitting Philip.

"Why did you kill them?!" Juan asked as he stood up.

Philip looked at Juan. "For the supplies and the gas. I didn't want to kill them, but that's the way the world works now."

 _No. There had to be another way,_ Juan thought.

"You could've asked them to join us!" Juan shouted.

Philip holstered his pistol, and picked up the Steyr AUG A1 assault rifle. "If you remember, I asked if **we** could join **them** , but instead of **accepting** us, they **laughed** at us."

 _Sí, he did ask them that. And they did laugh at us. They even wanted us to leave._

"Then you should've just taken their supplies!" Juan argued.

"And if I did that, they'd have gone after us, and then I'd have to kill them; but I'd put my own people at risk, like your wife Marianna."

Juan pictured Marianna, dying in his arms in the aftermath of a gunfight, and then he thought, _No! Marianna can't die!_

"You…you should've tried to make a deal!" Juan said.

"A deal? With what and how long should I have tried?" Philip asked. "You saw the way they behaved, Juan, they thought this was a game, but this is survival."

 _Sí, we can't stay here all night. And those muchachos were stupid. If they joined us, they'd have gotten us all killed, or maybe they'd have killed us._

"What…what do we tell the others back at camp?"

Philip walked over to Juan and put a hand on his shoulder. "Let me worry about that. But right now, let's just gather up the supplies and the gas. Everyone back at camp must be worried about us."

Juan nodded, and he followed Philip and Nick into the camp and they began to collect the supplies and the gas cans.

"Juan," Philip said.

Juan turned towards Philip slowly.

Philip said, "Remember, this is the way the world works now."

•••

Sora sat back in his leather chair and said, "That was a shocking story, Mr. Zavala."

"It's true. I swear it," Juan wept.

Sora looked at Harold, and gestured at the box of tissues in the brass container on the desk. Harold nodded, took a tissue, and offered it to Juan. The Latino took it and dried his eyes.

"I fail to see how this concerns Rick Grimes," Sora said.

"My friend John warned us that Rick was turning into the new Governor. I didn't want to believe it, but he was right," Juan explained.

"The Governor?" Sora asked.

"Sí," that's what we started calling Philip soon after the walls went up in Woodbury. He…changed and drew us into a war against Rick, when Philip lost he slaughtered most of his people."

Sora looked at Juan, and said nothing.

"Rick took the rest of us into the prison, but he orders everyone around and makes all the decisions. He let the work crews fill their stomachs while everyone else starved. We were almost overrun by biters yesterday, but John saved our lives by gunning them down.

"But Rick, he showed no appreciation for what John did. Then he threatened Floyd and he beat Sam. He's turning into Philip. If you and your people go with us to the prison, he'll slaughter you all before you even get there."

Sora looked down at his hands as if he were holding a hand of cards, a minute later he stood from his leather chair, put his hands behind his back, and looked out the window at the poker room below.

"That is an elaborate theory, Mr. Zavala," Sora said.

Juan lowered his head in defeat.

"However it is a theory that I agree with."

Juan raised his head and looked at Sora hopefully.

"It is not easy to lead people in these desperate times, I can attest to that. But I have never broken into the sanctuary of another to steal their supplies, and I have never convinced others to abandon their sanctuary for mine.

"My associates have wanted to leave the El Dorado for some time; Mr. Singleton has told me so. They are eager to go to the prison Rick Grimes spoke about, and I will not deny my associates their wish."

Harold and Amare looked at each other with surprise.

"Is this prison secure?" Sora asked.

"Sí," Juan nodded eagerly. "We put up a new gate yesterday, and the fences are strong."

"Then I will honor the agreement I made with Rick Grimes; we will share our supplies and go to the prison."

Sora stood profile and said, "But before we leave the El Dorado, Rick Grimes must die."


	17. Chapter 17

**CHAPTER 17**

BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!

Rick's eyes shot open; his hand flew to the left and landed on the alarm atop the nightstand and his fingers moved a switch.

The beeping stopped.

Rick blinked a few times, sat up and yawned. He moved the pillows so he could put his back against the headboard, his hands went to his eyes and he rubbed the sleep out of them. Rick's eyes adjusted to the darkness of the hotel room and he looked to his left, picked up the alarm clock from the nightstand, and looked at the time; 5:00 AM. Rick put the alarm clock down and turned on the lamp. A small column of light lit up the center of the hotel room, and Rick looked to his left again and saw Carl sleeping soundly in the bed next to his, Rick smiled in amusement at his son's talent for sleeping despite a loud alarm.

Rick—wearing his T-shirt and boxers—threw the bed's covers aside, got out of bed, walked over to the light switch, and flipped it on, bathing the whole hotel room in light. Rick looked at the table set in front of the two beds and saw that his folded shirt, socks, dark jeans and tan Levi jacket were still were he placed them last night. Atop his jacket was his gun belt and holstered Colt Python revolver; his boots were on the carpeted floor alongside the desk. Rick now looked at his bed and checked that his M4A1 rifle was still leaning against the wall on the right side of his bed, his Glock 19 pistol with its attached Maglite suppressor was laying atop the right side of his bed.

Rick turned around and looked at the short hallway and the closed hotel room door at the end of it. The door was still locked, and the chair Rick placed against it for added security hadn't been moved. Satisfied that he and Carl were safe, Rick walked over to the linen closet, took out a green towel with the legend EL DORADO woven into it. Rick glanced at Carl to see if he was still asleep, and certain that he was, Rick stepped into the bathroom.

Rick urinated in the toilet and flushed it, then he removed his T-shirt and boxers, opened the shower's glass door, stepped inside, and turned the dial. Hot water from the shower head struck his face and it felt shocking and comforting because all the showers back at the prison were either weak or broken. Rick picked up the fresh bar of soap from the soap tray, and began to lather it across his body.

•••

After deciding he had showered long enough, Rick turned the dial back to its "off" position and the hot water stopped shooting out of the shower head. Rick opened the glass door and a cloud of steam rushed out of the shower ahead of him. Rick took the green towel he placed on the towel rack and began drying himself off.

After he dried off, Rick dropped the towel into the hamper and put his boxers back on; he then stepped over to the sink and stared at his reflection in the mirror.

 _This stubble is starting to fill in_ , Rick thought as his fingers on his right hand scratched at the whiskers on his face. _Maybe I should shave it all off._

Rick looked around the sink's countertop and saw a leather toiletry bag on the upper right corner, the property of the hotel room's original occupant. Rick grabbed the bag, slid it towards him, and opened it. He rummaged through the contents quickly, and found a small can of shaving cream, a bottle of aftershave, and a cartridge razor.

 _I…I can't use this thing,_ Rick thought suddenly as he held the cartridge razor. _It's not like taking clothes from a suitcase or hotwiring an abandoned car, this was a man's personal property, the first thing he used every morning of every day of his life._

Shame chilled Rick's bones as quickly as the hot shower had revived him. He put the cartridge razor back in the toiletry bag, followed by the small can of shaving cream and the bottle of aftershave. Rick picked up his T-shirt, put it on, and stepped out of the bathroom.

•••

Rick (now fully clothed) picked up his Kenneth Cole wrist watch from the nightstand and slipped it onto his left wrist. He looked to his right, and watched Carl who was still sleeping in his bed. Carl's battered Stetson hat was atop the headboard's right finial, and his tactical belt with his holstered Beretta 92FS pistol was wrapped around the finial's leg. Rick looked over the side of Carl's bed, and saw his son had strewn his denim jacket, plaid shirt, blue jeans, socks, and boots about the hotel room's floor like he used to in his bedroom at home. Rick shook his head at Carl's untidy habits, but he put a hand on his son's shoulder, and shook him gently.

"Carl," Rick whispered.

Carl grunted in annoyance, and pulled the sheets over his head as he curled up in his bed.

"Time to wake up, son," Rick said.

"Five more minutes, Dad," Carl muttered weakly.

Rick smiled as he remembered mornings like this one not so long ago: Lori trying to get Carl out of bed and get ready for school, but their son pleading for more time to sleep. Sometimes Lori would call Rick for help and he'd march into Carl's bedroom wearing his sheriff's deputy uniform and jokingly warn Carl he had five seconds to get ready for school or he'd be arrested for vagrancy.

"We don't have five more minutes, Carl. Get up," Rick said firmly.

Carl pulled the covers down from his head and sat up in bed, he was wearing a T-shirt with the "Atomic Paw" logo printed on it, and he wore boxers. "What time is it?" he asked while rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

Rick looked at his wrist watch: "Half past five," he answered.

Carl's eyes shot open and he fell back into his bed. "Jeez!" he shouted in disbelief.

Rick smiled at Carl's outburst and tapped the watch's face with the tip of his index finger. _I was in the shower for half an hour?_ He thought. _I know it's been over a year since I had a real shower, but being in there for that long was crazy!_

Rick put his arms down and looked around the hotel room: the soft beds, the flat screen TV and remote control; the bright, electric lights, the carpet, and the window with the drawn curtains. _It's going to be hard for everyone to say goodbye to all this luxury._

Carl swung his feet out of bed and sat with his head in his hands. "Are we going to eat breakfast?" he asked.

"Of course we are," Rick said as he walked over to the table. "But you should hop in the shower first; it'll help wake you up."

"Do I have to brush my teeth too?" Carl whined.

Rick picked up his gun belt and considered Carl's question for a moment. "Only if the toothbrush looks brand new," he answered.

Carl huffed. "Okay," he said.

"I'm going to wake the others up. See you in the restaurant."

"Okay," Carl repeated.

Rick buckled on his gun belt, and walked down the short hallway; he moved the chair away from the door, unlocked it, and walked out of the hotel room.

•••

After dinner, Rick asked Julia (who, for whatever reason, was still upset) which rooms his group and the Woodbury group occupied. Now, the sheriff's deputy approached the hotel room Michonne and Karen were staying in; he stopped in front of the door and heard the faint sound of a shower running. Rick knocked on the door and took a step backwards.

Rick heard the door unlock and he saw the handle turn; the door swung open slowly and Michonne stood in the doorway. The bathroom door was closed and Rick heard the shower more clearly, he also smelled the fragrance of shampoo and soap on Michonne.

"Good morning," Rick smiled.

Michonne smiled in return. "Good morning."

Rick blushed at Michonne's smile and rubbed the back of his neck nervously. "Uh…it looks like I didn't wake you."

"I thought you'd want to get an early start," Michonne replied.

"Well, I'm sorry the emphasis is on early."

Michonne looked over her shoulder at the alarm clock on the nightstand, looked back at Rick and smiled again. "It's okay. It's a long drive back to the prison."

"You know, Carl asked me if he could sleep for five more minutes."

Michonne chuckled, a rare sound that made Rick smile automatically. "I can sympathize with him; these beds are a **lot** more comfortable than the prison's cots."

"How did it go rooming with Karen?"

Michonne looked over her shoulder again, this time at the closed bathroom door. "Not too badly," she answered. "But she didn't like me setting the alarm so early. It's good for her that I don't speak Spanish, if you know what I mean."

Rick smiled. "I think I do. Anyway, we'll start gathering up supplies after breakfast, so I'll see you downstairs, okay."

"Fine," Michonne nodded.

Rick turned to his left to continue walking along the hallway when Michonne said, "You didn't shave."

Rick looked at Michonne and blinked. "What?" he asked.

"The stubble; you didn't shave."

Rick's hand went to his face and scratched at the stubble. "Oh, that," he said.

"I thought if you found some shaving equipment in your room, you'd use it. I thought even county sheriff's had a policy against facial hair."

"Well, I did find a razor and shaving cream in the bathroom, but I…thought there wasn't enough time to shave."

"Oh, well, maybe when we get back to the prison, you can find the time," Michonne suggested.

Rick smiled, rubbed the stubble on his chin, and resumed his walk. "Thanks for the advice."

•••

After waking up Daryl and the Woodbury group, Rick took the elevator to the first floor. After stepping onto the lobby, Rick decided to check on the eight glass doors that made up the El Dorado's main entrance before getting breakfast, so he walked towards the vestibule.

There was a large, dark shadow with a thin column of smoke rising from it sitting atop the top step. Rick removed the thumb strap from his holster and his fingers wrapped around the walnut grip of his Colt Python revolver. The shadow turned its head, and Rick saw it was Sora's second-in-command, Harold Singleton; the truck driver was smoking a cigarette.

Rick nodded and let go of his revolver's grip. "Good morning, Harold," he said.

Harold didn't reply, but he looked Rick over. "Good morning, officer," he said coldly.

 _Why is Harold calling me officer when I said he could call me Rick yesterday?_ Rick thought.

Harold nodded at Rick's holstered revolver. "You going to shoot me with that hand cannon?" he asked.

Rick glanced at his Colt Revolver and snapped the thumb strap back into place. "Of course not. I'm sorry if I frightened you."

"It takes a lot to scare the piss out of me, especially when I have this."

Harold raised his hands and revealed his MK 18 Mod 0 assault carbine.

"I guess not," Rick said, trying to remain polite in this odd conversation.

"I found this baby when we raided that police station Amare was hiding in. It saved my ass from those geeks five or six times."

"I believe you," Rick said as he looked at the steps where Harold spent the night on sentry duty: beside the truck driver was an LED lantern and a worn paperback novel by Craig Johnson; the book was from the Longmire series and its title was _Death Without Company_ , (the irony almost made Rick laugh aloud). Rick also saw a clay ashtray filled with ashes and crushed cigarette butts, and an open thermos with its lid/cup holding a small amount of coffee, and beside it was a nearly empty bottle of Fireball Cinnamon Whisky.

 _Damnit, he's been drinking,_ Rick thought.

Harold noticed Rick's changed expression and asked, "Is something wrong?"

Rick looked at the eight glass doors and asked, "I was just wondering if there was any trouble last night."

Harold looked at the glass doors, took the cigarette from between his lips, and tapped the ashes into the ashtray. "Nope," he answered.

"Did you see any walkers?"

"What the fuck's a walker?"

"That's what we call the dead," Rick explained.

Harold took a drag on his cigarette and blew out the smoke. "I saw a few "walkers" walking across the parking lot. Maybe they remembered they parked here."

Harold threw his head back and laughed loudly.

 _Damnit, we don't need him like this,_ Rick thought.

Harold looked up at Rick and asked "Ain't you got a sense of humor, officer?"

"Not at the moment," Rick answered.

Harold chuckled, then took another drag on his cigarette and blew out the smoke.

"You and your people must be happy to finally be leaving this casino," Rick said.

"Yeah, we're thrilled," Harold muttered.

"Does that include Amare too?"

Harold removed his cigarette from between his lips and looked up at Rick again. "What?"

"Amare. I saw how scared that kid was of Miyaguchi, and that card shark made numerous veiled threats towards him. So is Amare okay, or did your boss take his samurai sword and execute him after dinner?"

Harold ground his cigarette into the ashtray, and leapt to his feet as his left hand tightened around the grip of his assault carbine, and stood nose-to-nose with Rick.

"Damn right Amare's okay!" Harold shouted with the aroma of coffee laced with alcohol on his breath. "For a lawyer, the kid's a dumbass, but Miyaghuchi didn't touch him!"

"Why not?" Rick asked.

"Because Amare told Miyaguchi—"

Harold stopped in midsentence; his complexion turned pale and he stared at Rick wide-eyed.

Rick glared at Harold and rested his hand on the walnut grips of his Colt Python revolver. "What did Amare tell Miyaguchi?"

Harold blinked a few times; beads of sweat appeared on his forehead and he wiped them away with his right wrist. "Amare…told Miyaguchi that…he was sorry." Harold panted. "The kid fucked up on sentry duty, but none of our people got killed, so Miyaguchi forgave him."

"Just like that?" Rick asked.

"Just like that," Harold answered.

"That's an odd decision for a leader who came across as being stern."

Harold sat back down on the steps and laid the assault carbine across his lap. "Well, it's an odd world nowadays, ain't it?"

Rick looked back into the lobby, the morning sun made it look as big, luxurious, and empty as it did in the evening.

"Is Miyaguchi awake?" Rick asked.

Henry huffed in annoyance and checked his wristwatch. "He'll be down for breakfast at six o'clock sharp. Those Japs have a hard on for punctuality."

Rick shook his head in disgust at Henry's drunken racism and turned towards the lobby. "Thanks," he said as he walked away.

Harold picked up his cup and looked over his shoulder as Rick walked along the lobby. _Yeah, you're welcome, asshole. And thank you for dropping in and giving us all that false hope!_ Harold thought angrily.

The truck driver drank his mixture of coffee and whisky and put the empty cup down beside his thermos.

 _Last night at dinner I thought that cop was going to help us get away from that goddamn Jap,_ Harold thought. _But that Juan goes and tells Amare that we just put our lives in the hands of Charles Manson!_

Harold lowered his head and remembered the horror he felt as he listened to Juan's story about "The Governor" killing those college kids for their supplies and the similarities he shared with Rick Grimes. Henry was so stunned he didn't hear when Sora twice called his name. Sora curtly instructed Harold to visit each member of their group individually, recount Juan's story to them, and tell them Rick would be dealt with tomorrow morning.

Harold shut his eyes and tears seeped through his closed eyelids as he remembered going up to the penthouse floor, and knocking on the door of the other group members—his friends—and telling them how Rick Grimes would execute them on the side of the road.

The other three reacted to the news differently: Alonso cursed in Spanish, a stunned Frankie asked if that former Atlanta Falcons player Tyreese Coleman was in on Rick's plan (Harold told him "probably"), and Julia cried so fiercely, Harold had to hold her until she calmed down. All of it had worn Harold down, so when he went downstairs to do the late shift hours of sentry duty, he stopped at the tavern and took a bottle of Fireball Cinnamon Whisky; as the hours ticked by, Harold had poured less coffee and more whisky into his cup.

Harold opened his eyes and looked out the El Dorado's front doors; beyond them were the courtyard, the parking lot, and freedom; freedom from Sora Miyaguchi and his arbitrary rules and his cold wrath. Ever since the group had asked the Japanese gambler to be their new leader, they had watched him wield his katana, and execute somebody for various infractions of his rules: deserting the group on a supply run, breaking silence while on a supply run, pocketing supplies for themselves, the waste of the group's resources, and desertion or sleeping while on sentry duty. Harold would argue with Sora respectfully before each execution, and sometimes his efforts were successful, but mostly he found himself and Frankie taking the decapitated body and its head (with a stab wound in its temple to destroy the brain) to the El Dorado's back lot, where they set it afire, and said a prayer for the deceased.

 _This shit is never going to end,_ Harold thought sadly. _We can hide from the dead, but they'll always be out there, waiting for us to fuck up. Our leaders will always promise us there's a safe place, but they'll get us killed._

 _We're all going to fucking die,_ Harold thought. He put his head in his hands and wept.

•••

 _This isn't the cheerful breakfast I had in mind,_ Rick thought as he looked around the El Dorado Resturante.

All the excitement the prison group and the Woodbury group had over gathering up supplies and leaving for the prison was extinguished when the El Dorado group shuffled quietly into the restaurant. They now sat at their tables, and picked at their breakfast of plates of Huevos Rotos (Broken Eggs), and let their cups of coffee go cold; Sora was the only one who had walked in with his head up.

 _What's wrong with these people?_ Rick thought.

Rick looked at Harold, Alonso, Amare, Frankie, and Julia; all of them glanced at Rick, and when they saw he was looking at them they looked down quickly at their breakfast and covered their faces with their free hands.

 _I guess nobody likes a cop, even when it's the end of the world,_ Rick thought. He shrugged and resumed eating his breakfast.

•••

Rick and Sora stood side-by-side as they all three groups standing around the lobby, waiting for instructions. The El Dorado group had placed their personal weapons and luggage in front of the reception desk; Sora held his sheathed katana in his hands.

"Everyone gather around," Rick ordered.

The three groups walked over to Rick and Sora.

"All right, it's a quarter past six. I saw that not everyone had much of an appetite during breakfast, but we've a lot to get done and not much time to do it in."

The El Dorado group shivered. Rick chose to ignore it, while Sora stared ahead coldly.

"Sora, has your group been scavenging the gas stations in Atlanta?"

The Japanese gambler turned towards the sheriff's deputy. "Indeed we have."

"Well, I think it'll be safer if we siphoned gas from the cars in the parking lot. My group brought siphon tubes and gas cans with us."

Rick looked at the group gathered in front of him and said, "Karen. Julia."

The two women stepped forward nervously.

"I want you two to watch the doors while the rest of us are in the parking lot."

"Okay, Rick," Karen said.

Rick nodded in appreciation and said, "Daryl, Michonne, John and Sora."

Rick's second-in-command, the mysterious woman, and the Vietnam veteran stood a bit taller at the sound of their names, while the Japanese gambler turned his head towards the sheriff's deputy.

"I want you four to cover us while we're siphoning gas from those vehicles. No gunfire unless it's necessary. If a herd or scavengers show up and we can't stop them, Karen and Julia will join us in the parking lot and we all get in the cars and get the hell out of here."

"Wait a minute. You want us to leave our stuff here?!" Frankie asked.

"Okay," Rick ordered with his hands raised for calm. "If a herd or scavengers force us inside the casino, we'll be trapped in here. I'd rather all of us got out of here with nothing, instead of sitting on all the supplies and waiting for the doors to be knocked down!"

The El Dorado group looked at Sora, who gestured for them to step back; they lowered their heads and followed his orders.

After waiting a few moments for his orders to sink in for the casino group, Rick said "Harold."

Sora's second-in-command raised his head and looked at Rick.

"While we're in the parking lot, you should look for a vehicle that can carry your group."

Harold drunkenly pointed a thumb over his shoulder. "But, my truck—"

"We can't take your semi; it's too loud and attracts too much attention."

Harold threw his hand down to his side, huffed, and tried to keep his balance.

"Any questions?" Rick asked.

The three groups looked around, but nobody replied to Rick's question or raised a hand.

"Okay, let's get to work," Rick said.

•••

Two pairs of the eight glass doors were opened and their stops were set down. Daryl, Michonne, John, and Sora stepped outside with their weapons in hand. After walking across the courtyard, they took strategic spots in the parking lot, and kept lookout for threats of any kind.

Rick, Carl, and the others walked out next. Karen, armed with her M4A1 rifle, and Julia, armed with her Ithaca 37 "Stakeout" shotgun, guarded the casino's open doors. When the El Dorado group looked at the fountain in the courtyard's center, they saw the mangled, dead walkers Rick had run over with his truck last night; their complexions turned white and hands covered their mouths to prevent themselves from vomiting what little food was in their stomachs.

Floyd saw his Berretta 92FS pistol that Michonne had kicked away last night; he walked over to the pistol and picked it up.

"Floyd," Rick said.

The retired postal worker looked at Rick.

"Remember what I said last night: if you ever aim a gun at one of my people again, I'll kill you myself."

Floyd nodded fearfully and stuck the pistol inside his waistband.

The El Dorado group watched Rick confront Floyd; Harold chuckled in amusement, while the others eyed the sheriff's deputy fearfully.

Rick led everyone to his group's trucks; they took the empty gas tanks and siphon tubes from the truck beds, and walked onto the parking lot. From there, they split up into teams of two, broke open the lids to the gas tanks of several vehicles, and began siphoning the gas out of them.

Several minutes into the work, Harold said in a drunken voice, "Hey, officer."

Rick—who was siphoning gas from a BMW 325i sedan—turned around and saw Harold standing in the next row of parked vehicles.

"Yeah, Harold?" Rick asked.

"I think this Dodge Grand Caravan will carry my guys," Harold answered, as he patted the vehicle's hood.

"That's good, Harold," Rick replied with a nod. "Just leave it alone until we've loaded all the supplies. We can't risk the engine attracting any attention."

Rick went back to siphoning gas from the BMW, while Harold laid his elbows on the Dodge's hood, put his head in his hands again and muttered, "Fuck you, psycho."

Nearly an hour later, the gas tanks were filled and the trucks and Daryl's motorcycle were refueled. The gas tanks and siphon tubes were placed back in the truck beds and Rick led the three groups back into the El Dorado.

•••

"Karen, Julia, keep watching those doors." Rick ordered.

"You've got it, Rick," Karen nodded.

Rick, Carl, and Sora walked across the lobby, with the others trailing behind them.

"Is it true you built an armory here?" Rick asked Sora.

Sora nodded. "Indeed, compliments of the Atlanta Police Department."

Rick stopped walking and turned around. Everyone else came to a halt and awaited their orders.

"Michonne, John, Amare, Frankie, and Tyreese, go with Sora to the armory and gather up the ammo. Daryl, Alonso, Juan, Floyd, and Sam, go to the pantry and gather up the food. Both groups will bring the supplies to the lobby. After that, we'll load the supplies onto the trucks, and head for the prison."

"We're not taking the guns?" Frankie asked incredulously.

"We have plenty guns at the prison," Rick answered.

"Hey, what about me?" Harold whined, his voice sounded hurt.

Rick looked Harold over, the truck driver's eyes were bloodshot and his balance was wobbly.

"Lie down on the sofa, Harold. It'll take a while for all of us to gather up the supplies."

Harold staggered towards one of the lobby's sofas, lied down, and fell asleep immediately.

Sora glared at his drunken second-in-command and shook his head. "Americans," he said in disgust.

Rick looked at the giant clock with Roman numerals above the front desk. "All right everyone, let's get back to work."

"These two groups will need moving equipment," Sora said. "I suggest you all follow me."

Karen and Julia returned to the main entrance, while Daryl's and Michonne's groups reluctantly followed Sora through the vaulted doorway to the right of the stone staircase, Rick and Carl were now alone in the lobby.

"Uh, what are **we** going to do, Dad?" Carl asked bewilderedly.

Rick put his hands on hips looked around the lobby. "Well, I did leave my rifle and pistol in our room, so we better go upstairs and get them."

Rick walked across the lobby, but instead of going toward the elevators, he went to the hotel map that was bolted onto the wall.

"Is that all?" Carl asked as he walked hurriedly to catch up with his father.

Rick studied the map for a few moments, and then he looked down at Carl and grinned. "No, we'll clear out the infirmary. It'll probably just have aspirin, cough syrup, and bandages, but we've got to take all of it with us."

"Okay," Carl nodded.

A grin appeared on Rick's face. "Wait a minute: you still have to find that guitar for Beth."

"Ugh, Dad—"Carl grumbled as he pulled the brim of his battered Stetson down over his face to hide his reddening complexion.

"The theater is on the first floor, past the roulette room" Rick announced as he tapped the map with his index finger. "You'll find a guitar there."

"Great," Carl mumbled.

Rick patted Carl on the shoulder and father and son walked away from the map and through the vaulted entrance that Daryl, Michonne, and the others went through minutes before.

"Do you want to stop at the gift shop and have the guitar gift wrapped?" Rick teased.

Carl mumbled again and Rick smiled.

•••

Michonne and Sora walked along a hallway to one of the storage rooms; Daryl and his group, along with Michonne's group were following them.

"You have no right to wield that sword," Sora said as he looked straight ahead.

Michonne glared at Sora. "Excuse me?" she asked.

"The samurai sword; it is a noble weapon, perhaps the noblest weapon to ever be crafted in history. A Black American woman has no right to wield it."

Michonne's hands balled into fists, but she kept calm and looked at Sora's clothes. "A Japanese man has no right to wear an Italian tailored suit," she said.

Sora turned his head towards Michonne, his eyes burning with anger and his teeth barred. Michonne wasn't intimidated by Sora's display of anger. Behind Michonne, Daryl snorted in amusement.

Sora looked over his shoulder at Daryl, who didn't hide his grin.

A few moments later, Sora and the two groups stopped at a storage room. Sora propped his katana against the wall, dug into his pocket, and pulled out a key ring with a dozen keys looped through it. Sora selected one key, placed it in the lock, and turned it. A click was heard and Sora withdrew the key and stepped away from the doors.

"Mr. Tatum," Sora said.

"Yes, sir," Amare said as he stepped forward, opened the doors and reached inside. Another click was heard, and a light came on from storage room's ceiling to reveal the interior: chairs stacked into columns, folded tables against the walls, storage shelves holding cardboard boxes and loose items, but what caught everyone's attention were the hand trucks and flatbed carts.

Tyreese patted John's shoulder and said, "Come on."

Tyreese and John stepped inside the storage room, followed by Alonso, Juan, Frankie, and Sam. A few moments later they all stepped out wheeling a hand truck or a flatbed cart.

Frankie looked at Sora, who was removing two keys from the key ring.

"Aren't you going to help us, boss?" Frankie asked.

"I am helping," Sora answered. "I unlocked the storage room door, and now I am handing out the keys to the pantry and the armory."

Sora underhanded tossed the keys to Michonne and Daryl, they caught them.

"Be careful that you do not strain yourselves lifting all those supplies," Sora said as he picked up his sheathed katana and walked past the two groups. "I will be in the lobby, meditating."

"He's just like the Japs that put the factory I worked in out of business," John grumbled as he watched Sora fade from view.

"Forget about him," Michonne said comfortingly. "Let's get those supplies."

•••

The prison group, the Woodbury group, and the El Dorado group pushed or pulled the hand trucks and flatbed carts along the courtyard; these carts were loaded with cardboard boxes filled with the casino's meager medical supplies and boxes of various calibers of ammunition and firearm cleaning supplies.

"I've got one! I've got one!" Carl said happily as he walked into the lobby while carrying a heavy acoustic guitar case with both hands.

Rick smiled at his son's enthusiasm. Rick had his M4A1 rifle slung over his shoulder, and in his left hand he carried a tote bag that he found in the gift shop with the El Dorado's name and logo printed on it; inside the tote bag was Carl's aluminum baseball bat suppressor, and his Glock 19 pistol, but Rick had removed its Maglite suppressor.

"He's wanted to play the guitar for a while huh?" Michonne asked Rick as her hooded cape snapped in the light mid-morning breeze.

"Eh, I think he's too young for that," Rick quipped.

"Huh?" Michonne asked.

Carl blushed and groaned with embarrassment. He tried to lift the guitar case into the Dodge Ram's truck bed, but it was too heavy. Rick placed his rifle and the tote bag inside the truck's cab, and then he stepped to the side, gently took the guitar case from his son, and placed it inside the truck bed.

"All right, let's get the medical supplies loaded onto the trucks," Rick ordered. "Put the ammo in the bread truck; there're no gas tanks in there."

"It'll take a few trips to clear out the pantry," Daryl said as he watched the highway for a herd of walkers or a group of scavengers.

"We'll clear it out or put a dent in it," Rick said as he put his rifle and the tote bag inside the Dodge Ram's cab. "We need every morsel of food we can take back to the prison."

"What about our stuff?" Frankie asked angrily.

"We'll load the supplies first. Then we'll break open the Dodge, load up the luggage, and get the engine started," Rick answered.

The casino group looked at their leader Sora, who wore a black trench coat over his black suit. Sora raised a hand to signal a halt, and his group nodded their understanding.

•••

For nearly an hour, the three groups worked on emptying the El Dorado's pantry: the hand trucks and flatbed carts were now loaded with cardboard boxes filled with canned foods, boxes of cereal, breakfast and dinner meals; bags of potatoes or rice, and cans of powdered milk. Daryl, Michonne, John, and Sora resumed their sentry duties in the parking lot, while Karen and Julia stood guard at the El Dorado's open doors.

Daryl, his poncho draped over his shoulders like a cloak, watched the highway. His eyes narrowed, and then he whistled. It was a whistle Rick and Carl knew well from their group's nomadic winter: a warning.

Rick looked over at Daryl, and then he looked at what his second-in-command was staring at: a large herd of walkers staggering up the highway from Atlanta.

"Oh my God," Rick whispered in shock.

The others in the parking lot realized that Rick was looking at something on the highway, and they looked in that direction too.

"It's the geeks!" Frankie shouted.

"Oh, shit!" Sam added.

"All right, don't panic," Rick said as he stepped forward with his right hand in the air to signal calm.

In the parking lot, Sora turned around and began walking across the courtyard; John followed him.

"No shooting!" Rick shouted. "The gunfire will draw their attention!"

Karen and Julia abandoned the El Dorado's front doors and ran across the courtyard.

"It's the geeks! The geeks are coming this way!" Julia shouted.

"We've got to get out here!" Karen added.

"We will," Rick agreed. "But we can't panic. That herd is at least ten minutes away from us."

"And they might've not seen us," Michonne added as she and Daryl ran onto the courtyard.

"Right," Rick nodded. "We can drive out of here easily if we're calm and quiet."

Sora and John walked onto the courtyard. John stood alongside his group, while Sora kept walking until he stood in front of Rick.

Harold, get that Dodge open and hotwired! Julia, Amare, and Alonso, get the luggage!"

Sora looked at the four members of his group that Rick had given orders; they didn't move.

Rick blinked. "Why are you all just standing there?"

Sora gave an angry scream and punched Rick in the stomach, knocking him to the ground.

Rick coughed and tried to sit up, but Sora stepped on his chest, forcing him on his back again.

"My associates take orders from me, not you," Sora said.

"Dad!" Carl shouted. He ran to help his father, but Sora grabbed the boy and tossed him towards Julia, who wrapped her left arm around his throat, knocking his battered Stetson off his head in the process. As Carl struggled to break free, Julia dropped her Ithaca 37 "Stakeout" shotgun and drew the boy's own Beretta 92FS pistol before he could get it.

Daryl started to raise his Stryker Strykezone 380 crossbow to his shoulder, and Michonne started to unsheathe her katana, but the casino group was faster.

"Drop the fucking crossbow!" Harold ordered as he aimed his assault carbine at Daryl.

Daryl stopped but held onto his weapon.

Michonne had her sword partially drawn, but stopped when she saw Amare aiming his AR-15 rifle at her.

"It sucks to be caught with your pants down, huh?" Amare quipped.

Michonne looked at Daryl, who looked at her, both were uncertain as to what they should do.

Tyreese started to run forward, but he came to a halt when a body leapt into his path.

"I'm sorry, Tyreese," Frankie said as he aimed his HK UMP45 submachine gun at the former football player.

Karen started to raise her M4A1 rifle to her shoulder, but stopped when Alonso aimed his M16A4 assault rifle at her.

John began to draw his Colt M1911A1 pistol out of his holster, but Juan grabbed his arm.

"No! Don't get involved!" Juan pleaded.

"What the fuck are you doing?!" John shouted as he tried to push Juan away.

"This is for the best and you know it!" Juan replied as he tightened his grip on John's arm.

Floyd and Sam dropped their pistols and raised their hands in surrender.

"Hey! You guys have a problem with Rick Grimes, not us!" Floyd cried.

"Yeah, look at what that son of a bitch did to my face!" Sam shouted as he pointed at his bruises.

Sora looked over his shoulder at Floyd and Sam and said, "Silence."

Floyd and Sam nodded and obeyed Sora's order.

Sora took his foot off Rick's chest and stepped back. "Tell your people to drop their weapons," he said.

Rick sat up and looked at Carl, being held captive by Julia. "Let go of my son!" he ordered.

Sora wrapped his hand around the handle of his sheathed katana. "I will not ask you a second time," he warned.

Rick lowered his head in defeat and said, "Drop your weapons."

Daryl dropped his crossbow, Karen dropped her rifle, and John dropped his pistol. Michonne returned her partially drawn katana to its scabbard, unslung it from her back, and dropped it to the ground.

Rick looked past Sora and at the herd staggering up the highway; they were so close he could hear their growling. "We've got to leave now," he said firmly.

"Indeed, but not with you," Sora said.

Sora drew his katana and the mid-morning light reflected off the sharp blade. He pointed the katana's tip at Rick's throat.

"Dad!" Carl screamed in fright as he struggled to break free from Julia's grip.

"Goodbye, Officer Grimes," Sora said.


	18. Chapter 18

**CHAPTER 18**

"You can't kill Rick and expect to get away with it," Michonne warned Sora.

Sora lowered his katana and Rick exhaled in relief and covered his throat with his hand.

"I intend to 'get away with it', because you and that barbarian Dixon are next," Sora replied contemptuously.

"Fuck you, Astro Boy," Daryl spat as he compared Sora to the popular Japanese superhero.

Sora glared at Daryl; he held his katana with both hands, raised the blade over his head, and bent his knees in preparation to leap towards Daryl and deliver a killing stroke, but the archer stood his ground and glared back at the Japanese gambler.

"Why are you doing this?" Rick asked.

Sora blinked as if the sound of Rick's voice pulled him out his cloud of rage. Sora lowered his katana, straightened his posture and looked down at Rick.

"As the saying goes in this country: Get them before they get you."

"If you hurt my dad, I'll kill you," Carl promised as he glared at Sora.

Sora looked at Carl, and he seemed amused by the boy's threat.

"It's okay, Carl," Rick said reassuringly as he looked at his young son.

"Shut up kid," Julia said pleadingly as she held the boy from attacking Sora.

Carl struggled harder to free himself from Julia's hold, but after a few seconds he gave up. Rick looked up at Sora, and Sora looked down at him.

"If you think I'm out to get you, you're damn wrong," Rick explained. "I just want everyone to get out of this casino alive."

"Do not pretend that you are a humanitarian, Officer Grimes," Sora scoffed. "You came to my casino for supplies, not to rescue people."

"But we made a deal; food and gas in exchange for a new home at the prison!"

"Indeed, but during those negotiations there was no mention of my associates and I being slaughtered before we even left the El Dorado."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Rick asked.

Sora stood profile and looked at Juan, who was now restraining John by his shoulders. "Why do not ask Mr. Zavala?" he asked.

Everyone on the courtyard looked at Juan; he let go of John and took a frightened step backwards.

"What did you tell him, Juan?" Rick asked angrily as he glared at the handyman.

"I told him about **the Governor!** I told him about **you!** I told him **everything!** " Juan shouted as he pointed an accusatory finger at Rick.

Rick's eyes widened and his mouth dropped open, but he was speechless.

"The Governor is a psycho, you fuckin' dumb wetback!" Daryl spat.

"Hey, fuck you Dixon! Fuck your dead brother Merle, too!" Juan shouted angrily.

Daryl balled his hands into fists and he started to run towards Juan, but he stopped when Alonso leapt in front of him.

"Easy, amigo!" Alonso warned, as he jabbed Daryl in the chest with the barrel of his M16A4 assault rifle.

Daryl glared at Alonso, but when the chef wrapped his index finger around the trigger of his rifle, the archer lowered his fists to his sides and stepped back.

"You're crazy, Juan!" Michonne shouted. "The Governor lied to everyone in Woodbury! He started a war against Rick and his people. He killed your friends. He killed Andrea!"

"And that pendejo will kill all of us!" Juan retorted as he now shook his pointed finger at Rick.

"Juan, I think your brain has taken a siesta," John quipped.

"Oh, that's a fucking riot coming from you, John, because you were warning all of us about Rick since the day he brought us to the prison!"

Now, it was John whose eyes widened and whose jaw dropped.

Sora looked back at Rick and said, "It seems you are not as popular as you thought."

Rick was facing Sora's direction, but he was looking over the Japanese gambler's shoulder, and at the herd of walkers staggering ever closer on the highway.

John had gotten over his shock at Juan's statement; he narrowed his eyes, clamped his mouth shut tightly, and stomped towards Juan.

"Listen you stupid bastard!" John shouted as he grabbed Juan by the front of his jacket. "I said we had to keep an eye on Rick. I never said we had to kill him!"

"You were right, John! And Marianna was right, too!" Juan screamed. "Rick's the Governor all over again! He smiles. He wraps his arms around you. He tells you everything will be all right. All we've got to do is do exactly what he says!"

Rick hadn't heard Juan's latest statement; he was still watching the herd on the highway…they had stopped in their tracks and were looking down at them. _Oh shit,_ he thought worriedly.

"Frank, separate those two gentlemen," Sora ordered.

Frankie lowered his submachine gun and stomped over to John and Juan. "I prefer being called **Frankie** ," he muttered angrily.

Karen leaned beside Tyreese and whispered, "Do something!"

"Don't worry, I've got this," Tyreese replied as he patted Karen's hand.

Tyreese stepped forward. "Are you for real?!" he asked Sora. "Are you're really just going to kill Rick, Daryl, and Michonne?!"

"Indeed," Sora answered. "I would rather not kill the rest of you, because your cooperation will help us gain admittance into the prison, but if you try to intervene, I shall not hesitate."

Tyreese froze in shock, and Karen slipped her arm around his arm protectively.

"What about Carl?!" Michonne asked. "Are you going to kill him, too?"

"I will not...the Oni will," Sora answered.

Sora's threat towards Carl caught Rick's attention. He looked up at the El Dorado group's leader and narrowed his eyes. "What did you say?" he asked icily.

"When my associates and I arrive at the prison with Mr. Zavala and his group, I will say that you and your two lieutenants were killed by the Oni. Your son was bitten, so I amputated his arm, applied a tourniquet to his wound and took him with us. Unfortunately, the shock was too much for the poor boy; he died so I took a knife and put it through his brain before he could return as an Oni."

Carl went pale with horror. Rick started to shake with rage. Daryl and Michonne both looked like they'd have leapt upon Sora and beat him to death if guns weren't pointed at them. Julia and Alonso glanced at each other nervously.

"If you touch one hair on my son's head, I'll take that sword and shove it down your throat," Rick promised.

Sora shook his head. "Those are not the last words one would want to be remembered by."

•••

"Okay, you old farts," Frankie quipped as he pushed his way between John and Juan, "break it up before you both have a heart attack."

"I'm not too old to kick your ass!" John snapped.

Frankie looked John over and said, "Please. You're so old, if I raised my voice at you, that'd be called elder abuse."

John threw a left hook that connected with Frankie's jaw and sent the young man falling to the ground.

"You've got anymore jokes?" John asked angrily.

Frankie spat out blood, sat up and glared up at John. "Go fuck yourself!" he shouted.

John kicked Frankie in the face, knocking him down again. Now, Frankie covered his face with both hands and he writhed on the ground in pain.

"That wasn't funny either," John retorted.

Floyd and Sam ran over to John and held him back from attacking Frankie any further, while Tyreese and Karen ran over to the injured Frankie.

"Take it easy, John," Sam pleaded.

"Do you want to get us killed, too?" Floyd asked.

"That punk better stay away from me or else," John grumbled as he glared down at the injured young man.

Tyreese and Karen helped Frankie sit up. "You good, man?" Tyreese asked.

Frankie reluctantly took his hands away from his face, revealing the imprint of a boot heel stamped on his face diagonally. "How the fuck can I be good after I just got kicked in my face?" he spat.

Tyreese didn't know how to respond so he turned his head and stared out into space.

"Frankie's not our problem," Floyd said.

"Yes, he's **a** problem," John snapped as he pushed Floyd and Sam away, "and **Juan** is a problem, and that **Jap** is a problem and these **fuckers** we've picked up are a problem!"

"Oh, but Rick isn't a problem?" Sam asked.

John looked stunned at Sam.

"He is man, and you know it. You've been telling us that from the start," Floyd pointed out.

"But I…I…I was wrong!" John admitted. "the son of a bitch and I butt heads, but he's a better leader than I thought he'd be."

Juan, his confidence returning, stepped in front of John and put his hands on his friend's shoulders.

"Rick's turning into the Governor," Juan insisted. "He made you risk your life to help him put down those biters in the prison's field. He let our wives and children go hungry while we built a new gate. You saved him from a herd, but he was angry at you for using a rifle!"

"But…but…" John stammered.

Stan pulled at John's shoulder so he could look at him. "Rick's already beaten the shit out of me! What if, when we return to the prison, he decides to execute me to keep everyone else in line?"

"What about me?" Floyd asked. "We've been in this casino for two days and Rick's threatened to kill me twice."

John looked over his shoulder at Rick, who was still on his knees with the unarmed Daryl and Michonne behind him.

"That Jap bastard's going to kill Daryl and Michonne, too," John muttered as he turned back to his friends. "I don't give a damn about the redneck, but Michonne…she's one of us."

"Cut the shit, man," Sam said with a rare fire in his voice. "Michonne was only in Woodbury for a few days, and she wasn't exactly Ms. Congeniality."

"Michonne and Daryl are loyal to Rick," Floyd pointed out. "They have to die."

John shook his head. "No! This isn't what I wanted. This is murder!"

Juan stepped forward and said, "I can't trust Rick with Marianna's life. And you can't trust Rick with Donna's life."

John and Juan stared at each other for a few moments, and then John bowed his head and muttered, "We can't kill the kid."

"We won't, John," Floyd replied as he retrieved the Beretta 92FS pistol he dropped moments before, "you heard what the Jap said; the biters will kill him."

•••

Sora watched Frankie stop the argument between John and Juan, but Frankie got knocked to the ground twice by John, and now Sora watched John and his three friends argue over the impending death of Rick Grimes.

Sora lowered his head, closed his eyes, and sighed. "I must have done something dishonorable in my past to be trapped in this accursed country with its foolish people."

"You, dishonorable? No, you're a fucking saint," Rick quipped.

Sora opened his eyes and glared at Rick. "Silence," he ordered.

"Or what, you'll kill me?" Rick taunted.

Sora swung his katana to his left and it came to a stop in front of Carl's throat. The Japanese gambler had moved with such speed, his black trench coat snapped in the breeze like a flag and when he stopped with the point of his katana in front of Carl, Julia screamed in fright and tightened her hold on the boy.

Alonso went pale at the sight of a sword pointed at a boy's throat, and he made the Sign of the Cross.

"I said I would amputate your son's arm after your death, but your disposition is making me reconsider my itinerary," Sora said.

Rick shouted in rage, leapt to his feet, and punched Sora. The Japanese gambler stumbled away from Carl and Julia, but stayed on his feet.

"Rick!" Michonne shouted fearfully.

The enraged Rick pressed his attack on Sora; he grabbed the Japanese gambler's wrist with both hands and tried to pry the katana out of his hand.

Sora dropped the scabbard to his katana, and gripped its handle with both hands; the two men struggled for possession of the sword.

Everyone on the courtyard now turned their attention towards Rick and Sora.

Alonso and Amare lowered their rifles, rushed forward and started cheering like they were at a sporting event.

"Andale, Officer! Beat him!" Alonso shouted to Rick.

"You've got this, boss! Kick his ass!" Amare shouted to Sora.

Harold lowered his MK 18 Mod 0 assault carbine too, but he huffed in annoyance. _I hope they kill each other,_ he thought bitterly.

•••

Frankie touched his nose gingerly to test if it was broken, and winced in pain. Then then head Rick and Sora struggling, "What the fuck's going on?" he asked.

"Rick's fighting your boss," Karen answered.

Frankie snorted contemptuously and a bloody bubble of snot came out of one nostril and burst. "It's the Pig vs. the Prick," he mumbled.

Karen glanced at Frankie and went back to watching the aftermath of Rick and Sora's struggle.

•••

Michonne, Carl, and the Woodburians watched silently as Rick and Sora struggled for the katana, but Daryl was observing, and his observations led to the start of a plan.

 _I've still got my gun tucked behind my back, but Rick's too close to that Yukaza motherfucker!_ Daryl thought angrily.

Daryl then looked up at the clear sky and prayed. _You damn well better give me a chance to get us out of this mess,_ _'cause Carol is waitin' for me back at the prison._

•••

"I'll kill you!" Ricks shouted as he punched Sora again and again. "I'll kill you!"

"You will soon be dead!" Sora shouted in return as he struck Rick's nose with a back hand karate chop. "And then your boy will die, and after him all of your people will die!"

Floyd gulped in fear at Sora's threat.

"Amare! Watch those two fuckers!" Harold ordered as he pointed at Daryl and Michonne.

Amare nodded and spun around. "All right. Hands up!" The young assistant district attorney ordered as he pointed his AR-15 rifle at Daryl and Michonne.

Daryl and Michonne followed Amare's orders reluctantly.

"And keep them up!" Amare added with a jab at the air with the barrel of his rifle for emphasis.

Harold stomped towards the fight and clubbed Rick just below his right ear with the butt of his assault carbine. Rick cried in pain and covered his ear with his right hand as he fell backwards onto the courtyard.

"Dad!" Carl shouted fearfully.

"No!" Michonne shouted angrily.

Daryl kept quiet and kept observing.

•••

Julia dropped the Beretta 92FS pistol to the ground and put both arms around a frantic Carl to stop him from breaking loose.

"Stop fighting, kid. I'm not going to hurt you, okay?" Julia pleaded.

Carl lowered his head, and tears started rolling down his face. "He…he wants to kill my dad," he cried.

Julia looked down at Carl, and she started to weep herself. The cocktail waitress placed her hand comfortingly on the top of the boy's head.

Amare heard a body fall to the ground, so he turned around and saw a stunned Rick, laying on his back and covering his right ear with his hand. "Hell yeah," the young lawyer smiled.

Harold slung his assault carbine over his right shoulder and glared down at Rick, who was groaning painfully. "Goddamn cop," he muttered angrily.

Amare stood alongside Harold, and looked down at Rick too. "Oh, shit," the chef muttered.

"What the hell were you thinking, Amare, rooting against the boss?" Harold whispered as he looked at the El Dorado's chef.

Amare glanced over his shoulder and saw Sora spit blood onto the courtyard then pull out a silk handkerchief from the inside pocket of his black trench coat.

"Somebody has to stop him," Amare whispered to Harold.

"Yeah, but it sure as hell ain't going to be this guy," Harold replied as he pointed down at the injured Rick.

A disheveled Sora wiped the blood from his mouth with a silk handkerchief, then he combed back his hair, straightened his tie, and smoothed out his black trench coat, he then picked up his katana's scabbard, and sheathed the blade. When Sora heard Rick groaning behind him, the anger rushed back into his eyes, and he turned around to finish his business with the sheriff's deputy.

•••

With the struggle between Rick and Sora over, Frankie waved a hand dismissively and stood up on shaky feet.

"Where are you going, man?" Tyreese asked.

"I've gotta get cleaned up," Frankie answered as he took a shaky step towards the water fountain.

Tyreese glanced at Karen, she nodded, and Tyreese said to the injured young man, "We'll help you."

Tyeese and Karen stood up and at Frankie's sides; they put the injured man's arms over their shoulders, helped him towards the water fountain. After setting Frankie down on the fountain's edge, Karen reached into one of her jacket's pockets, and produced a handkerchief; she dipped it in the fountain's cold, still water, wrung it out, and placed the wet cloth on Frankie's bruised face gingerly.

Frankie took the wet cloth from Karen, and looked up at her. "Thanks," he said.

Karen looked at Frankie and managed not to wince as the boot heel marking on his face began to bruise. "Sure," she said cheerfully.

•••

After Rick fell onto the courtyard, Juan nodded in approval, Sam uttered an excited "Yes!", and Floyd smiled as he wrapped his index finger around the trigger of his pistol. John removed his Atlanta Braves baseball cap and wiped a hand across his white hair.

Michonne closed her eyes and she shook with rage. Daryl observed the opposition and the proximity of their hands to their weapons; the most threatening ones were Sora, and as funny as it seemed, Floyd.

 _It'll either be the Jap or the chicken shit mailman,_ Daryl thought confidently. He lowered his hands to sides slowly.

•••

Rick growled painfully as he opened his eyes; blood was tricking out of one nostril from Sora's karate chop, and his ear was ringing from the blow Harold had struck to stop the fight, but he managed to sit up on the courtyard.

As ringing faded away, Rick realized Sora was standing over him again. Rick remembered Sora's threat on Carl's life and he looked with widened eyes in Carl's direction, he saw his son was still alive and still being held prisoner by Julia, but they both were crying.

"I am glad you are conscious, Grimes," Sora said angrily as he dropped Rick's title, "because I want you to see your son die."

Rick looked up at Sora again; his eyes narrowed and his hands balled into fists, but he lost the element of surprise; if he tried to jump Sora again, or attempted to draw his service revolver, Harold would whip out his assault carbine and empty its magazine into his chest.

Sora turned his head towards Julia and said, "Give me the boy."

Julia trembled and clutched Carl protectively. "No," she whispered.

Sora tilted his head, as if he misunderstood what Julia said. "I beg your pardon?"

Julia looked straight at Sora. "No," she said a bit louder.

Sora glared at Julia. "That was not a request."

"I know," Julia said.

If Sora had attempted a bluff on Julia, he failed. The Japanese gambler blinked several times, and his grip on his katana became loose. Rick had a second chance to overpower Sora, but he looked up at the herd atop the highway, growling louder and reaching out with their hands to grasp them all.

 _They're starting to realize we're alive,_ Rick thought worriedly.

A moment later, Rick looked up at Sora, and saw the Japanese gambler was glaring at Julia again and gripping his sheathed katana tightly.

 _But we might not be alive much longer,_ Rick thought again.

"Mr. Singleton," Sora said as he looked over his left shoulder, "Bring me the boy."

Harold raised his head and looked wide-eyed at Sora.

Sora slipped his thumb underneath the katana's handguard, and pushed forward, exposing an inch of the blade's sharp steel.

Harold gulped in fear. A moment later, Harold looked at Julia, and the boy she held captive, yet was now protecting with her life.

"I'm tired of this shit, Julia," Harold grumbled as he started to walk towards the cocktail waitress, "hand over the kid so we can get the hell out of here."

"No!" Alonso shouted as he raised his M16A4 assault rifle up to his shoulder.

Harold stopped in his tracks and looked over his shoulder to see Alonso was pointing his rifle at him.

"Alonso? What the hell, man?" Harold asked in disbelief.

"He's not killing the niño," Amare answered. "And he's not killing anyone else."

Sora stood still, but he gripped his sheathed katana so tightly, it started to rattle.

•••

Floyd exhaled through his clenched teeth and he tapped the slide of his pistol against his right leg. He looked like a man waiting impatiently at a bus stop.

Michonne watched the El Dorado group argue, and she flashed a grin at Daryl, who was still observing the furious Sora and Floyd.

 _One of them's gonna make a move any minute now,_ Daryl thought.

•••

"Why are you two defending this cop?" Amare asked as he pointed a finger at Rick. "You both heard the same story as the rest of us."

"Sí," Amare nodded, "we heard the same story, and when Miyaguchi said he would kill him, Julia and I said nothing, but no more."

"Yeah, I thought I'd be okay with killing Rick. But killing Carl, Michonne, and even Daryl…I can't live with all of that," Julia admitted.

Amare looked back and forth at Amare and Julia; he huffed and lowered his head in shame. "Okay. I hear what you both're saying, but—"

"I have heard enough," Sora said firmly.

"Well, you're going to hear some more!" Julia shouted. "A few months ago, we asked you to be our new leader, and that was the biggest mistake we ever made!

"You ungrateful bitch!" Sora shouted angrily as his hand returned to the handle of his sheathed katana, "Every rule and every decision I have made was for this group of filthy Americans!"

"You said your fucking rules would keep us safe!" Julia retorted. "Executions for sleeping on guard duty, stealing food from the pantry, and deserting the group on runs. But all that did was turn us into your slaves!"

"Liar! Are we not about to leave this casino? Am I not taking you all to a new sanctuary?"

"We're leaving because you failed to get the rest of us to let Juan and his amigos join us in the El Dorado!" Alonso shouted.

Sora turned around and glared at Alonso, but the chef wasn't afraid of his leader anymore.

"You never wanted us to leave and find a safer place," Alonso said as he shook with anger. "You just wanted to hide inside the El Dorado, and if you could get four more people to join our little group, then they would've been a bonus!"

"Your plan would've worked too if Carl hadn't spoken up and told us the truth about Floyd and Sam," Julia added.

Sora looked at Julia again and saw that she had let go of Carl and now had her hands on his shoulders, like she was a big sister seeing her little brother off on his first day of school.

A moment later an angry voice shouted, "Oh, the hell with this!"

Everyone looked in the direction of the fountain and saw Floyd stomping towards Rick, with a pistol in his hand.

•••

"What are you doing, Floyd?" John asked.

"I'm not letting that son of a bitch go back to the prison with us," Floyd answered.

"Christ Almighty," John muttered nervously as he slapped his Atlanta Braves cap back onto his head.

Rick raised his hands up as Floyd got closer. _Oh, shit,_ he thought.

Sora smiled in amusement at the sight of Floyd enraged and armed with a pistol. "Officer Grimes did threaten your life, so I would say you are entitled to be the one who kills him," he said.

"Hey man, you said it yourself: 'Get them before they get you'".

"Indeed," Sora agreed.

"No!" Carl shouted as he tried to rush Floyd, but Julia's fingers gripped his shoulders and pulled him back to her.

"Shut up," Floyd snapped. "I don't have any problems with you, kid."

"You're going to have problems with me if you kill my dad!"

"Fuck it, kid. We've all lost somebody in this God forsaken world; it's the cost of staying alive."

Alonso gasped in surprise and raised his rifle at Floyd. "Stop!"

Floyd kept walking.

"I'll shoot you!" Alonso warned.

"Bullshit!" Floyd retorted. "You didn't kill your friends, and you're not going to shoot me!"

Floyd came to a halt in front of Rick, who looked up bravely at the retired postal worker.

"You don't look so tough now, Rick," Floyd said contemptuously.

"Neither do you, Floyd," Rick quipped.

Floyd's eyes widened and he flinched in surprise at Rick's insult, but a moment later he narrowed his eyes and stood straight.

"Fuck you!" Floyd shouted as he thumbed the hammer back on his Beretta 92FS pistol and aimed it at Rick's forehead.

•••

Daryl had observed Floyd stomp towards Rick with a pistol in his hand, and he observed Floyd's reactions to Carl's and Alonso's threats, and to Rick's insult.

This was the moment of truth.

Daryl slipped his right hand underneath his poncho and to the small of his back; his fingers wrapped around the walnut grip of his Colt Official Police revolver, pulled the revolver out, and aimed it at Floyd.

"Hey!" Daryl shouted.

Floyd looked up at Daryl.

Daryl pulled the trigger.

BLAM!

•••

The .38 Special bullet struck Floyd above the ridge of his thick framed glasses. A second later the bullet burst out of the back of Floyd's head, taking with it pieces of skull, brain matter, and droplets of blood. The bullet's impact also made Floyd throw his arms up, and his pistol flew free and tumbled up into the air. Floyd stood still for a few moments with a shocked expression frozen on his face, and then he fell backwards and landed on the courtyard at the same time as his pistol.

"Floyd!" John shouted in shock.

The echo of the gunshot ran from the courtyard, to the parking lot, and to the highway as the others looked in shock at Floyd lying dead with a puddle of blood spreading underneath his head.

"Jesus Christ," Sam said as he brought his hands up to his temples.

"No," Juan whispered in disbelief as he looked at Floyd's corpse.

Daryl aimed his revolver at Sora, "Drop the sword, motherfucker!" he ordered.

Sora glared at Daryl, and kept his sheathed katana in his hand.

Harold cursed under his breath and started to swing his MK Mod 0 assault carbine off his shoulder and into his hands. Daryl aimed his revolver at the truck driver and pulled the trigger back.

"Drop it, motherfucker!" Daryl ordered.

Harold grumbled in defeat, and his carbine dropped to the ground with a clang.

"The pistol too!"

Harold cursed some more, but he unholstered his Glock 17 pistol and dropped it to the ground.

Michonne ran forward and pulled Amare's AR-15 rifle out of his hands. "Get back!" she ordered with a push against his shoulder.

Amare put his hands up, nodded, and complied.

Rick stood up and nodded in appreciation at Daryl, and he nodded in return.

"Dad!" Carl shouted as he ran towards his father.

It was a chance for Sora to regain the upper hand, and both he and Rick knew it.

"Carl, don't—" Rick warned as he held out a hand to signal his son to stop running.

Carl ran past Sora, and the Japanese gambler wrapped his left arm around the boy's throat, pulled him close, and unsheathed his katana.

"Carl!" Rick shouted in horror.

"Drop your revolver!" Sora shouted at Daryl as he held his katana underneath Carl's throat.

Daryl glared at Sora, and aimed his revolver at him.

Harold bent down to pick up his guns, but Michonne brought the captured AR-15 to her shoulder and took aim.

"Don't!" she ordered.

Harold stood up and raised his hands above his head.

Sora faced Rick and tightened his hold on Carl, who whimpered in fear as he felt the cold, sharp blade underneath his throat.

"Tell your people to drop their firearms!" Sora ordered.

Rick's complexion had gone pale, and sweat started running down his forehead.

 _If I do what Miyaguchi said, he'll have Daryl and Michonne killed and he'll probably kill Carl next. But if I don't do anything, he'll kill Carl right in front of me,_ Rick thought fearfully.

After a few moments of internal debating, Rick said, "Let my son go. You can keep the supplies and our vehicles!"

"We are not negotiating again, Officer Grimes!" Sora said angrily. He then flicked the katana like it was a razor underneath Carl's chin, and a thin trickle of blood ran down the blade.

"No!" Rick pleaded.

From behind Sora, Julia shouted. "Look!"

Everyone turned towards Julia and saw she was pointing towards the highway, they looked in that direction and they couldn't believe their eyes.

•••

It was as if the gunshot confirmed the herd's suspicions that they were indeed watching a group of humans, because they climbed over the highway's railing and fell to the pavement below with a sickening splat.

Bones were broken, bodies were crushed, heads were split open and brains destroyed. But the first dozens of walkers that hit the pavement acted like a large pile of dead, dry leaves, and the rest of the herd rolled off the pile, stood up, and began staggering forward while Karen and Julia screamed in horror.

Tyreese looked at Rick and asked, "What're we going to do?!"

"We have to leave now," Rick answered firmly.

Rick turned towards Sora and said, "Let my son go!"

Sora smiled and shook his head.

Rick dug into his front pocket and took out the keys to the Dodge Ram 1500. "Here are the keys to my truck! You and your people can take it! Just give me my son!"

Sora looked at his group and shouted, "If you want to live, return to the El Dorado!"

Sora spun around, knocked Julia down, and ran towards the El Dorado.

"Dad!" Carl screamed as Sora tucked him under his arm like a running back would carry a football as he ran down the field.

Harold picked up his firearms and followed Sora. Frankie picked up his HK UMP45 submachine gun and ran towards the El Dorado too.

Juan watched as the three men and their young hostage ran towards the El Dorado. "This wasn't supposed to happen," he muttered regretfully.

Rick drew his Colt Python revolver and after Sora. "Carl!" he shouted.

Daryl watched as the herd approached slowly, and then he looked over his shoulder and saw Rick running towards the El Dorado. "Here they come!" he shouted.

"Hold them back!" Rick ordered as he continued running. "I'm not leaving without Carl!"

Michonne shoved the AR-15 rifle into Amare's arms. "Here," she said.

Amare glanced at the rifle and looked at Michonne in disbelief. "Hey, what the—?"

Michonne picked up her sheathed katana and slung it over her back. "I'm going to help Rick!"

"We can't hold 'em back for long!" Daryl warned Michonne as she ran past him with her hooded cape billowing behind her.

"Just make it happen!" Michonne retorted.

"Yes, ma'am," Daryl replied.

Daryl grabbed the hem of his poncho with his left hand, and tossed it over his left shoulder; he tucked his revolver against the small of his back, picked up his crossbow, and faced the approaching herd.


	19. Chapter 19

**CHAPTER 19**

Carl screamed in horror as he tried to break free from Sora's grip, but the Japanese gambler pinned him tightly under his arm as he ran with his katana in his right hand and its scabbard in his left hand. Harold was a few feet behind them, holding his assault rifle and his pistol in his arms like they were logs for a fireplace. Frankie was a few feet behind, trying desperately to catch up.

Rick was several feet behind the four of them but he was catching up quickly. Rick held his Colt Python revolver in his hand tightly, and he puffed air in an out of his mouth like a locomotive running at full steam. A few feet behind Rick was Michonne, her katana slung over her back and her hooded cape billowing behind her.

"Carl!" Rick shouted as he saw his son trying to break free from Sora's grip.

"Dad!" Carl replied.

Sora looked over his shoulder and saw Rick chasing him and his two loyal associates. He then looked over at Frankie and shouted, "Kill him!"

Frankie spun around, aimed his HK UMP45 submachine gun at Rick, and pulled the trigger.

At the same time Frankie opened fire Rick leaped forward, landed on the courtyard, and covered his head with his arms.

BRAKKA! BRAKKA! BRAKKA!

The .45 ACP bullets flew harmlessly over Rick and Michonne, and continued flying over the courtyard.

•••

Daryl, the Woodbury group, and the El Dorado group ducked when they heard the automatic fire coming from the El Dorado, and moments later the bullets Frankie had fired lost their velocity, struck the courtyard and ricocheted around them.

Tyreese put his arm around Karen's shoulders, pulled her to the ground with him, and shielded her with his own body from the ricocheting bullets while Karen screamed in horror. A few seconds later the bullets finally embedded themselves into the nearest parked vehicles or flew into air harmlessly.

Julia had just sat up after Sora knocked her down to the ground in his dash towards the El Dorado, when the bullets that Frankie fired hit the pavement a few feet behind her. Julia fell onto her side and screamed in fear.

When the ricocheting bullets stopped, Daryl looked back at the El Dorado and saw Rick getting back to his feet, while Michonne ran past him and chased after Sora (who was holding Carl) and his two flunkies. Daryl stood up, held his Stryker Strykezone 380 crossbow with its barrel pointed in the air, and grabbed Julia's arm gently.

"You okay?" Daryl asked as he pulled the frightened young woman to her feet.

"He's going to kill us!" Julia screamed with tears running down her face.

"That jackass was aiming at Rick, but he missed! Rick and Michonne will take care of him and your boss. But we have to hold back the walkers. You ever use that street howitzer?"

Julia looked down at the ground at her Ithaca 37 "Stakeout" shotgun (which was lying next to Carl's battered Stetson hat and his Beretta 92FS pistol). "A few times," she answered.

"Good. Now listen," Daryl ordered.

Julia nodded and wiped the tears away from her eyes.

"The shotgun's no good unless you shoot it a point blank range. Pick it up and wait for me to give the word."

Julia nodded again and Daryl let go of her arm. Julia picked up her shotgun.

Daryl looked at the Woodburian group and the El Dorado group, still lying on the pavement after the ricochets had stopped. Daryl whistled, and they all looked up at him.

"Get up and form a skirmish line!" Daryl ordered.

"You okay?" Tyreese asked as he raised himself off Karen slightly.

Karen pushed against Tyreese's chest, forcing him off her completely. "What the hell were you thinking?" she asked angrily.

Tyreese blinked. "I…I was trying to save your life," he answered.

"I can take care of myself," Karen said curtly as she grabbed her M4A1 rifle and stood up.

"Uh, I know you can," Tyreese said with surprise at Karen's aggressive behavior.

Karen looked Tyreese over. "Hey! Where's your shotgun?" she asked.

Tyreese looked down at his body as if Karen had pointed out he was wearing a name sticker. "Uh, I left it on the ground," he answered.

"Pick it up, you idiot!" Karen ordered as she looked at the approaching herd and raised her rifle up to her shoulder.

Tyreese looked at the ground quickly for his Mossberg 500 shotgun, spotted it, picked it up, and brought it up to his shoulder.

Karen glanced at Tyreese out of the corner of her eye. "Hey…did you even rack a shell in the chamber?" she asked in an annoyed voice.

Tyreese looked at the pump underneath the shotgun's barrel, racked it, and heard the infamous "KA-CHOOK" of a shell entering the shotgun's chamber. Tyreese smiled at Karen bashfully.

"Did you leave the safety on?"

Tyreese lowered the shotgun and saw that its safety was in the "on" position. "Uh, my bad," he muttered.

Karen shook her head contemptuously at Tyreese's clumsiness with firearms, and went back to aiming down the iron sights of her rifle. Tyreese faced the herd, took a deep breath, and waited for the dead to stagger within range.

Lying down on his stomach, John looked at the El Dorado casino, and saw Frankie turn around run to catch up to his boss. "Son of a bitch," he muttered angrily.

Sam and Juan were lying down on their stomachs nearby John, but they were staring at Floyd's corpse, which was lying on its back with a bullet hole right between his eyes.

John sat up, looked to his left, and grabbed Sam by the collar of his jacket. "Get up!" he ordered as he pulled his friend up along with himself.

"Floyd's dead!" Sam cried.

John glanced at Floyd's corpse. "Yeah," he agreed.

"Dixon killed Floyd!"

"Forget him. We've got more important shit to deal with!"

Sam looked to his right and his eyes widened at the sight of the slowly approaching herd. "Oh, fuck!" he cried.

John drew his Colt M1911A1 pistol and took aim at the herd. "Don't shit your pants, Sam, we're going to need every gun we've got."

Sam picked up the Beretta 92FS pistol that he dropped earlier and flipped the safety to its "off" position. "Let's get the fuck out of here," he pleaded as he aimed his pistol with a trembling hand.

"We leave no one behind," John said firmly.

"Hey, this ain't Vietnam, John."

John started to laugh and he laughed so hard, he had to lower his pistol. "Are you kidding? These geeks are like the V.C.: they just keep on coming. The only difference is they're not shooting back!"

Sam stood alongside John and whipered, "You've got the keys to the Silverado, right? Let's take it."

John glared at Sam, and then looked at the herd. "No," he said firmly.

"What?!" Sam asked as he almost shouted into John's ear. "Why are you risking our asses for Rick? I thought you hated that son of a bitch!"

"I do. But that Jap kidnapped Rick's kid and Michonne's trying to help get him back. I can't leave the three of them behind, Sam. If I did, what would Donna think of me?"

Sam blinked in disbelief at John, but he turned towards the herd and raised his pistol at them again.

John looked over his shoulder and saw Juan, still lying on his stomach and staring at Floyd's body. "I hate to admit it, Juan, but we're going to need your help," he said.

Juan looked up at John and nodded; then he stood up with his Remington 870 shotgun in his hand. "I'm sorry, Floyd," he whispered sadly.

A moment later, Juan rushed over to John's left side, racked a shell into his shotgun's chamber, and thumbed the safety to the "off" position like Tyreese had done with his own shotgun moments before.

A skirmish line was formed, and Daryl looked behind him to see Rick and Michonne were now running side-by-side towards the El Dorado, Daryl held his crossbow at the ready and rushed forward to face the herd.

•••

Frankie grimaced when his shots flew over Rick, so he spun around and began running towards the El Dorado. "Fuck!" he shouted angrily.

"Did you kill him?" Sora asked as he looked over his shoulder.

"No!" Frankie answered.

Sora narrowed his eyes and looked forward again.

•••

Rick got back to his feet just as Michonne ran past him, with her hooded cape billowing behind her.

"Hey, what're you doing?" Rick asked as he resumed running.

"I'm helping you!" Michonne answered without looking back.

"I don't need your help!"

"Really?"

Rick caught up to Michonne and said nothing.

•••

Carl smiled hopefully as he watched his father stand up and continue running to his rescue. An idea flashed through Carl's head and he pulled the sleeve back on Sora's black trench coat, exposing the skin of the Japanese gambler's wrist. Carl grabbed hold of Sora's forearm, leaned down quickly, and bit down hard on Sora's wrist with all his strength.

Sora screamed in agony and turned his body to the right so his left side (with Carl still biting onto his wrist) crashed into one of the closed pair of glass doors that made up the El Dorado's main entrance. Carl's forehead slammed into the glass door, and a second later Sora's weight slammed into his back, rendering him unconscious.

Rick eyes widened in horror as he saw how Sora attacked his son. "CARL!" he shouted in horror.

Frankie pointed his submachine gun behind his back and fired blindly.

BRAKKA!

Rick and Michonne fell to the pavement, but the shot flew high above their heads.

Sora took a step towards the set of open doors that Karen and Julia had been guarding while the supplies were carted to Rick's vehicles, and tossed the unconscious boy inside the vestibule. Sora then raised his left wrist and saw that Carl's bite had broken the skin, and his wrist was covered in blood.

Harold came to a stop beside Sora and saw the blood on his leader's wrist. "What the fuck happened to you?" he asked.

"I was bitten by a rodent," Sora answered with contempt.

Harold juggled with the firearms in his hands, but managed to holster his Glock 17 pistol. Harold caught a glimpse of a body inside the vestibule, and his eyes widened when he realized it was Carl.

"Jesus H. Christ! Did you kill him?" Harold asked.

"No," Sora answered as he sheathed his katana, "but I almost wish I had."

Harold turned to look again at the unconscious Carl, but an image in the glass door caught his attention.

The image was his reflection.

His beard and curly brown hair were unkempt, his eyes were still bloodshot from the whiskey-mixed coffee he had drank all night to stay awake and calm his nerves about Juan's story about the Governor.

 _I look like an animal,_ Harold thought. _I accepted Juan's story without question; I repeated it to the others without saying anything to calm them down. When I saw Rick this morning I never asked for his side of the story. And I told Julia to give me Rick's kid when Miyaguchi decided to kill him._

Harold watched as Sora leaned his sheathed katana against the glass doors and dug inside his trench coat for a handkerchief.

 _I chose the_ _ **wrong side**_ _,_ Harold admitted to himself. Miyaguchi's _killed people in our group; people who I thought had it coming. But he threatened to cut of that kid's arm, and then he said he'd kill him in front of Rick, and I tried to help him do it!_ _All because I want to get the hell out of this casino! Rick might be like this Governor Juan talked about, but Miyaguchi's no different from them…and now... neither am I._

Harold was shaken from his thoughts when someone bumped into his shoulder. Harold looked to his right and saw Frankie; he flinched when he saw the boot heel imprint on Frankie's face.

"What…what are…we going to…do now?" Frankie panted, with his hands on knees.

"We go inside the El Dorado, lock the doors, and wait for the Oni to kill them all," Sora answered as he wrapped the handkerchief around his wounded wrist.

Frankie pointed a thumb over his shoulder. "But, Julia, Alonso and Amare—"

"They made their choice," Sora interrupted as he held his sheathed katana by its scabbard.

"No! We can't leave them out there!" Henry argued. "There's still time to—"

BANG!

A bullet struck the glass door to the left of Sora, missing his head by a couple of inches. The Japanese gambler and his two associates ducked and turned around to see Rick Grimes, standing on the courtyard, and aiming his revolver at them; Michonne was still laying on her stomach, looking at them.

"Freeze!" Rick ordered.

Sora grabbed his sheathed katana with his left hand and leaped inside the vestibule. "Kill him!" he ordered.

•••

Carl heard muffled, angry voices in the darkness. He opened his eyes, but everything was blurry. He sat up, rubbed his forehead, and groaned painfully. His vision started to clear, when a gunshot ran out and shards of glass rained down from the door to his right; the boy screamed, and threw his arms over his head.

Carl heard his father shout in the distance, "Freeze!"

Carl's heart started pounding in his chest, and he lowered his arms to see his father, but a dark shadow leapt in front of him and shouted, "Kill him!"

Carl looked up and saw Sora with his sheathed katana in his left hand, and a handkerchief wrapped around the wrist Carl had bitten into moments ago.

"Stand up," Sora ordered coldly.

"Fuck you!" Carl spat with all the hatred he could muster.

Sora leaned down and grabbed Carl by the collar of his jacket. "Stand up!" he repeated.

Sora pulled Carl to his feet, and the boy started throwing wild punches that struck Sora on his face and head. "Enough!" Sora ordered as he shook Carl like a rag doll.

The shaking made Carl dizzy and he went limp. Sora tightened his grip on the boy and started dragging him up the small staircase. As they entered the lobby Carl recovered and started punching Sora again.

"Let me go!" Carl shouted as he struck Sora on his right ear.

"I will not," Sora replied as he shook Carl again to make him cooperate. "You see my young friend, your father and I played a round of poker during our negotiations last night; I defeated your father in that round and I shall defeat him again."

•••

Harold dropped his assault carbine, looked at Rick, and raised his hands into the air, "Don't shoot!"

Frankie looked at Rick too, but he aimed his submachinegun and opened fire. Rick's eyes widened at the sight of the submachinegun's muzzle and leapt forward like he was diving into a swimming pool.

BRAKKA! BRAKKA! BRAKKA!

Rick hit the pavement hard as the bullets flew overhead.

"Rick!" Michonne cried fearfully.

"I'm all right," Rick grumbled painfully.

CLICK! CLICK! CLICK!

Frankie looked perplexed at his submachine gun and realized it had run empty. "Shit," he whispered.

Rick looked up, ignored the pain from his landing, and sprung to a kneeling positing. "Drop the gun!" he ordered as he aimed his Colt Python at Frankie.

Frankie looked up at Rick, and saw the muzzle of that big Colt Python revolver. "Holy shit," he said.

"We give up!" Harold shouted as he stretched his arms up higher into the air.

Frankie dropped his submachine gun, and grabbed the handle of his HK USP Compact pistol holstered to his side.

"Don't go for that gun!" Rick ordered.

"Frankie, no!" Harold pleaded.

Frankie drew his pistol and aimed it at Rick.

Rick pulled the trigger of his Colt Python revolver.

BLAM!

The .357 magnum bullet struck Frankie in the center of his chest, and flew him back against the closed glass door.

Harold ducked at the sound of the gunshot, and when he looked up, he saw Frankie inhale his last breath, exhale it slowly, and die with a shocked expression frozen on his bruised face.

"Put your hands on top of your head, Harold!" Rick ordered.

Harold looked down at his hands, and saw he'd inadvertently grabbed the assault carbine he dropped earlier. Harold now looked at the open door that Sora had taken Rick's son through, and he sprang towards it.

BLAM!

Rick fired a shot and Harold heard it tear through his open jacket. Harold fell to the vestibule floor with a thud, but he got on his feet, ran up the small staircase and entered the lobby.

"Did you hit him?" Michonne asked Rick as she got to her feet.

"I don't think so," Rick answered.

BRAKKA! BRAKKA! BRAKKA!

Rick and Michonne turned around at the sound of the gunfire and saw Daryl had organized the Woodburian group and the El Dorado group into a skirmish line, and they were shooting into the herd of walkers.

"They'll run out of ammo before they kill all those walkers," Rick said.

"We have to hurry," Michonne replied as she started running towards the El Dorado

"How are you going to help me rescue Carl?" Rick asked as he caught up to Michonne. "You don't have your gun!"

"I gave it to you when I came back from Woodbury. What did you do with it?"

"Uh, I…left it in my cell."

Michonne thought about her imaginary confrontation with the Governor as the town of Woodbury burned down around them.

" _So are you going to shoot me?" The imaginary Governor asked. "That would be too quick. But if I remember my first visit to the prison correctly, your aim isn't very good."_

Michonne looked at Rick and grinned. "Forget about it. I'm a lousy shot anyway,"

Rick and Michonne slowed down as they reached the front entrance to the El Dorado. Rick looked down at Frankie's corpse and thought _He'll turn at any minute_.

Rick aimed his Colt Python at Frankie's head, thumbed the hammer back, and pulled the trigger.

BLAM!

The bullet went through Frankie's forehead, burst out of his skull, and shattered the glass panel his head was leaning against.

Michonne reached over her shoulder, drew her katana, and stood against the left side of the open door. Rick stood on the right side of the open door, broke open his Colt Python, replaced the three spent cases in the cylinder with the loose ammunition he kept inside his shirt pocket, and closed the cylinder into the Python's frame.

Rick leaned inside the vestibule and heard two voices in the lobby: Harold's and Sora's. Suddenly, Carl shouted out, "Da—!"

To Rick, it sounded like Sora put a hand over Carl's mouth. The thought of Sora assaulting Carl a second time made his blood boil. Rick looked at Michonne, and signaled that he would enter the vestibule first; Michonne nodded.

Rick aimed his Colt Python into the vestibule, stepped inside, and walked up the small staircase cautiously; a moment later Michonne followed him.

•••

BRAKKA!

Daryl, the Woodbury group, and the El Dorado group, ducked at the sound of a second round of gunfire from the El Dorado; fortunately the shot was high in the air, and after it flew over their heads, it lost its velocity and descended into the oncoming herd of walkers.

"I don't want to die!" Sam cried.

"I don't want you shooting me by accident," John shouted as he forced Sam's gun hand to aim at the pavement. "Keep your finger off the damn trigger!"

"Ya'll need to stop worryin' about what's goin' on behind us, and worry about the walkers in front of us!" Daryl ordered.

"I…I don't think we can kill all of them," Julia stammered as she watched the oncoming herd.

"We can't," Daryl agreed. "We just have to hold 'em back until Rick and the others get back!"

"What if Rick leaves us out here for bait?" Sam asked.

Daryl glared at Sam, while the others looked at him worriedly.

"Look around, people: we're in a goddamn parking lot! There're lots of vehicles for Rick to hotwire and drive away in with his kid and Michonne while the biters tear all of us to pieces!"

Daryl leapt towards Sam.

Hey, what're you—?" John asked.

Daryl pushed John out of the way, grabbed Sam by the collar of his jacket, and pulled him to his feet. "Rick left my brother Merle handcuffed to a roof in Atlanta, but he went back for him! He could've left ya'll to fend for yourselves in Woodbury, but he didn't! Carl told ya'll that back at the prison, or did you forget that?"

Sam quivered in Daryl's grip, and said nothing.

John thumbed the hammer back on his Colt M1911A1 and aimed the pistol at Daryl. "Listen, I don't give a fuck about the both you, but we're going to need every able body against those geeks."

Daryl looked at John, and looked back at Sam. A moment later, Daryl let go of Sam, who brushed off his jacket as if he bumped into a homeless man.

BRAKKA! BRAKKA! BRAKKA!

The automatic gunfire from the El Dorado started up again. Daryl, the Woodbury group, and the El Dorado group looked in the direction of the casino and saw Frankie throw down his submachine gun and draw his pistol, while Rick, (who was in a combat stance) aimed his revolver and shouted at the young man.

BLAM!

Rick's shot hit Frankie in the chest, killing him. Rick was now shouting at Harold, who knelt beside his dead comrade, but the truck driver ignored Rick and leapt inside the El Dorado.

BLAM!

Rick fired a shot at Harold, but no one could tell if it was a hit. Rick and Michonne stood up and continued running towards the El Dorado.

"At least Rick got one of those bastards," Daryl muttered as he stared at Frankie's distant, dead corpse.

"They're pissed off now!" Karen shouted.

Everyone spun around and saw the herd of walkers staggering ever closer, their flesh decaying on their bones, their golden eyes burning with rage, their mouths growling with hunger, and their bloodstained hands reaching out to grab the living.

"Get ready!" Daryl shouted at the Woodburian group and the El Dorado group.

The two groups reformed the skirmish line and aimed their rifles, shotguns, or pistols at the herd. Daryl moved his crossbow to his left hand and reached behind the small of his back to be sure his Colt Official Police revolver was still there.

Karen looked over her shoulder at Daryl, who was walking along the back of the skirmish line. "Those biters are so close I can smell them!" she shouted with disgust.

Daryl nodded. "Light 'em up!"

Karen looked down the iron sights of her M4A1 rifle, and pulled the trigger.

BRAKKA! BRAKKA! BRAKKA!

The walker Karen shot was a female whose long, auburn hair was caked with blood and dirt. The 5.56 rounds shattered its head, destroyed the brain, and it fell to the pavement dead.

The Woodbury group and the El Dorado group opened fire. The heads of the walkers in the front line burst open like water balloons and their bodies fell to the pavement never to rise again. The walkers behind them stepped over their corpses and the herd continued on slowly.

The first aimed shots had been fired, and marksmanship began to suffer, especially with Tyreese, Julia, Amare, and Sam. A bullet or shotgun pellets would strike a walker in the chest, or shatter a jaw, but they continued to stagger forward.

"I'm out of ammo!" Karen shouted.

Daryl pulled out his Colt Police revolver, and ran towards Karen. "Get back!" he ordered.

Karen stepped out of the skirmish line, and Daryl took her place. He aimed his gun at a young male walker that had tattoos covering his neck and arms.

BLAM!

The .38 Special bullet struck the tattooed walker in the forehead, it fell to his knees, and then fell face first onto the pavement, dead.

The second walker Daryl aimed at was a female, and its gold necklace stood out amongst its rotting grey flesh and blood stained mouth.

BLAM!

The bullet struck the female walker in the forehead, and it collapsed to the pavement, dead.

Karen had ejected the empty magazine and loaded a new one into her rifle. "Reloaded!" she shouted.

Daryl glanced over his shoulder, nodded at Karen, and moved back so she could resume her place in the skirmish line.

The Woodbury group and the El Dorado group kept up their fire, and the herd kept on staggering forward.

"Aw shit! They're still coming!" Amare shouted worriedly.

"Just keep shootin', damn it!" Daryl ordered as he moved up and down the back of the skirmish line with his gun in his right hand and his crossbow in his left,

Sam looked over his shoulder at the El Dorado, and the illusion of safety the new casino projected. "I'm out of here!" he shouted as left the skirmish line.

A hand grabbed Sam's shoulder, making the coward stop in his tracks. Sam turned around to see Daryl holding onto his shoulder tightly, and pointing the smoking barrel of his revolver at his face.

"If you bail on us, I'll throw your ass to those walkers!" Daryl warned.

Sam gulped fearfully and Daryl shoved him back into the skirmish line.

"Hey, Dixon, I might just take back all the shit I said about you!" John quipped as he loaded a new magazine into his pistol.

"Well, fuck you too, GI Joe!" Daryl grinned.

"We're gonna be overrun!" Tyreese shouted over the blast of his shotgun.

"Yeah," Daryl agreed as he began looking around the parking lot. "We're gonna need a new plan."

"You got one?!" Tyreese asked.

To his left, Daryl spotted a Humvee parked in the distance. He remembered before the world went to shit, how the Democrats and the college kids bitched about Humvees, "gas guzzlers" they called them.

Daryl tucked his gun against the small of his back and held his crossbow at the ready. "Cover me!" he shouted.

"Where are you going?" Tyreese asked.

"I've got a plan!" Daryl answered without looking back.

"Is it any good?"

"Maybe!"

Daryl ran in between the parked rows of automobiles and disappeared while the Woodbury group and the El Dorado group continued to put up a withering fire against the herd of walkers.


	20. Chapter 20

**CHAPTER 20**

Harold leapt inside the El Dorado's vestibule just as the .357 bullet from Rick's Colt Python revolver punched a hole into his open jacket and continued on to strike the top step. Harold hit those small steps with a hard thud, but he ignored the pain from his landing; he grasped his MK 18 Mod 0 assault carbine tightly, and scrabbled up the small steps.

Harold entered the lobby and saw Sora holding Rick's son by the collar of the kid's jacket. Miyaguchi looked at Harold, and the truck driver could tell by his icy expression that his leader knew what just happened outside.

"Frankie…Frankie's dead," Harold gasped.

"What about Officer Grimes?" Sora asked.

Harold looked at Sora incredulously. "Did you fucking hear me?" he asked. "Frankie's dead!"

"I did hear you and I do not care." Sora answered. "Now, is Officer Grimes dead?"

"No."

Sora glared at Harold, while Carl smiled confidently.

Harold looked down at the luggage that the El Dorado group had left at the entrance. He remembered choosing a Dodge Grand Caravan for his group to use for the journey to the prison, and the brief argument Frankie had with Rick out in the courtyard.

" _What about our stuff?"_ Frankie asked angrily.

" _We'll load the supplies first. Then we'll break open the Dodge, load up the luggage and get the engine started,"_ Rick answered.

No one would touch that luggage again.

Sora's plan to kill Rick had gone to hell. After getting the drop on Rick, the Japanese gambler changed the plan to include killing Daryl and Michonne, but the El Dorado group rebelled against their leader. One of the men from Juan Zavala's group was dead, Sora had taken Rick's son hostage, and Frankie was just killed with a bullet in his chest. Now, a herd of the dead were staggering slowly towards the El Dorado.

BRAKKA! BRAKKA! BRAKKA!

Harold spun around at the sound of the automatic gunfire. From the rise lobby was built on, he couldn't see what was happening in the courtyard, but he guessed Alonso, Amare, and Julia were with the prison group and the Woodbury group firing into the herd. Harold also knew that they'd soon be overrun, and then the herd would continue on, and they'd kill Rick and Michonne, and afterwards they'd enter the El Dorado, and they'd find and kill Sora, the kid, and himself.

 _I knew we'd all fucking die,_ Harold thought sadly.

Harold looked up at Sora and saw he was now walking across the lobby. Carl struggled to break free, but Sora stopped, shook the boy to keep him compliant and resumed walking.

Harold glared at Sora and followed after him. "Frankie's death doesn't matter to you, huh?" he spat contemptuously.

"No," Sora answered without stopping to look at Harold.

"Well, maybe **this** will matter to you: Those geeks are about to tear apart **my friends** and Rick's people; next it'll be Rick and Michonne, and after that they'll walk into **your casino** and do the same to you, me, and the kid."

Sora walked past the large palm tree and turned around; he glared at Harold for a few moments and said, "Mr. Singleton, it sounds as though you have lost confidence in me."

"I have. I've also lost the last four people in this goddamn world I called friends and my best chance to get out of this fucking place!"

"Your friends gambled and they lost, Mr. Singleton. If they had followed my orders we all would be driving to that prison Officer Grimes promised us. But I assure you that we still have a chance at surviving."

Harold blinked. "We do?"

"Indeed. The Oni will deal with our guests and out traitors. After they have moved along we will take a vehicle—perhaps that truck Officer Grimes offered us earlier—and his son shall tell us where his prison is located."

"But... you've wanted to leave this casino. You even tried to get Juan's group to join us."

"Indeed, but now I have no choice but to depart. My associates will soon be dead, and this casino is too large for you and I to manage."

Harold's anger towards Sora began to cool. He looked at their hostage, Carl. "What about the kid?" he asked.

"He will die, just as I told his father."

"No!" Harold shouted as he raised his assault carbine. "You— **we** —can't do that!"

"I am afraid, Mr. Singleton, that **we** have no choice!" Sora retorted. "If the boy lives, he will tell his people what truly happened, and they will not open the prison gates to us."

Harold reflected on Sora's statement and how persuasive it sounded; he dropped the assault carbine to his side.

 _I've been a goddamn coward,_ Harold thought. _I should've spoken up months ago when this Jap bastard was executing people for stealing food or trying to escape! I can't let him kill this kid._

Harold looked around the El Dorado, his home for over a year, and as disgusted he was over Sora's intentions to mutilate and kill Carl he was more disgusted by the sight of this casino; he shut his eyes and began to weep.

 _I wanted my friends to live._ _ **I want to live!**_ _I don't want to die here! Miyaguchi's plan is_ _ **my last chance!**_

Harold opened his eyes and he looked at Carl, who was looking past him at the lobby's entrance. Harold closed his eyes again and shook his head.

 _It's…It's too late,_ Harold admitted to himself. _I've let Miyaguchi run this casino like it was his castle, and that's why our group was whittled down to just six people._ _ **It's too late for me to be a hero.**_ _I want to live…and much as it sickens me, I'll let that kid die to make it happen._

BLAM!

The sound of the gunshot made Harold spin around and look at the lobby's entrance. "Holy shit!" he shouted with surprise.

 _Dad has to be alive,_ Carl thought worriedly. _He survived getting shot. He survived being in a coma. He survived the walkers. He survived the Governor. He has to be out there!_

"Da—!" Carl shouted, but he was cut off when Sora pulled him forward and clamped a hand over his mouth.

Sora glanced at his hostage and then he looked over at Harold. "I believe Officer Grimes is about to enter the casino," he whispered.

Harold turned around slowly and looked at Sora. "He's a good shot," he muttered worriedly.

"You have an automatic weapon," Sora said with a nod to the assault carbine in Harold's hand.

"So did Frankie," Harold retorted.

"Mr. Singleton, you are twice the fighter Frank was," Sora said, being sure to use Frankie's full name. "You helped me run the El Dorado. You helped keep the El Dorado secure. You defended your friends on supply runs. You informed me of Mr. Zavala's story about the Governor. I had my doubts about Officer Grimes, and Mr. Zavala's story proved it."

Harold looked at Sora and nodded.

"Take position inside the slot machine room. I will remain here with our young friend. When Officer Grimes steps into your sights…kill him."

Harold nodded and ran to his right; after he entered the slot machine room, he knelt behind the vaulted doorway and waited for his target to arrive. Carl's eyes widened with fear and he struggled to break free, but Sora tightened his hold on the boy. Carl's eyes widened as he spotted his father and Michonne climbing the vestibule's small steps and stand in the lobby's entrance.

•••

The sound of gunfire rolled above the parking lot as Daryl ran across a row of parked cars and dropped to one knee. The Humvee was parked in the next row, and it looked new, expensive, and filled with gas. Daryl looked over his shoulder and watched as the El Dorado and Woodburian groups fired their guns into the oncoming herd. Daryl stood up a bit and looked cautiously from the right and the left…walkers —in singles, pairs, and groups —were staggering towards the El Dorado, attracted by the sound of gunfire.

 _It's the CDC all over again,_ Daryl thought.

A moment later, Daryl took a breath, tightened his grip on his Stryker Strykezone 380 crossbow, and continued his run. He crossed over to the next row of cars, put his back against the driver's side of the Humvee, and checked his surroundings: the herd hadn't seen him, but the new arrivals to his left and right did; they turned away from the sound of the gunfire and began staggering towards Daryl, growling hungrily with every step.

 _Shit_! Daryl thought angrily.

Daryl took a step away from the Humvee, gripped his crossbow tightly, and swung its stock against the driver's side window.

CRASH!

FWEET! FWEET! FWEET!

The Humvee's car alarm rang loudly, and the walker's growled louder and narrowed their golden eyes. Daryl ignored the alarm and used the crossbow's stock to clear away the remaining shards of glass in the window's frame; then he reached into the Humvee, unlocked the door, and opened it. Daryl leaned inside, quickly found the buttons for the gas tank and the trunk, he pressed both buttons and both features popped open.

Daryl ran to the rear of the Humvee, placed his crossbow on the ground, and raised the trunk's lid to its full height. The trunk's contents of clothes, tools, sports equipment, and gym bags lay in a disorganized heap, and despite the perilousness of his situation, the sight made Daryl take a moment to snort in contempt. _Those white collar mother fuckers are slobs like the rest of us,_ he thought with amusement.

Daryl rummaged through the trunk quickly, and found a golf club bag. He opened the compartments to the golf bag and found a thin, dirty rag in one of them. _At least this rich prick kept his clubs clean,_ he thought.

Daryl picked up his crossbow, stepped over to the Humvee's gas tank, and unscrewed the cap. Daryl looked around again at the approaching walkers, and saw a priest walker that was too close for comfort. Daryl took an assertive step forward, brought his crossbow up to his shoulder, aimed through the iron sights, and pulled the trigger.

THUNK!

The arrow struck the priest walker in the forehead and the arrowhead stuck out the back of its head. The priest walker froze for a moment, and then it fell backwards and landed on the parking lot, dead.

Daryl turned back to the Humvee and unscrewed the gas cap. With the gas tank clear, he removed an arrow from his crossbow's quiver, and put the crossbow on the ground. Daryl unscrewed the arrowhead and put it in his leather biker vest's pocket; he then took the golf club rag and impaled it onto the shaft. Daryl tore the white and green vanes off the shaft and stuck it and the attached rag into the Humvee's gas tank as far as he could as he held onto it by his fingertips. _This fuckin' heap better have a full tank,_ he thought angrily as he watched walkers surround him slowly.

The closest walker was staggering from Daryl's left side; it was a Hispanic male with bits of flesh and blood caked on its goatee. Daryl pulled the shaft out of the Humvee's gas tank and saw that it was soaked in gasoline, so he tore it off the shaft. The Hispanic walker growled angrily as it raised its bloodstained hands at Daryl, but Daryl grabbed the Hispanic walker's throat with the rag still clenched in his left hand, and with his right hand, drove the shaft through the Hispanic walker's left eye.

SHUKK!

The Hispanic walker stopped growling and its arms fell to its sides. Daryl let go of the shaft and the walker's throat and watched as it fell backwards and landed on the ground, dead.

The other walkers growled angrier and continued staggering towards Daryl.

Daryl returned to the Humvee's open gas tank, balled up the gas soaked rag and stuffed it inside the gas tank's opening. After wiping his hands against his tattered jeans, Daryl reached into the right front pocket of his leather biker vest, and took out his Zippo lighter. Daryl flipped the Zippo open, ignited it, and put its flame to the gas soaked rag. Daryl closed the lid on the Zippo and returned it to his vest's pocket; then he picked up his crossbow, and started running back to the skirmish line.

A teenage male walker with a shaved head and piercings on its nose, eyebrows, and ears stood in Daryl's path and growled angrily. Daryl swung his crossbow's stock at the teenage walker, breaking the walker's cheekbone and knocking it to the ground. Daryl continued running while the flames from the burning rag ignited the Humvee's full gas tank.

KA-BOOM!

The Humvee exploded, sending a fireball into the air. While the Humvee's frame stayed intact and the wheels stayed on the suspension, the doors blew open and all the windows shattered into hundreds of tiny shards that flew like shrapnel at the half dozen walkers that were now crowding around it. The glass shards tore through their faces and into their brains killing them a second before the explosion threw them back and onto the ground

Daryl had escaped the killing range of the glass shards, but the explosion itself was strong enough to knock him off his feet and he landed on his chest hard. A few seconds later, Daryl raised himself up by his forearms slowly, and looked over his left shoulder to see the burning wreck of the Humvee and the half dozen walkers lying dead around it. Daryl coughed a bit, grabbed his crossbow by its barrel, and crawled the last few feet to the next row of parked cars for cover against the herd that he hoped would soon arrive.

•••

KA-BOOM!

Juan knelt on the ground as he took shells from his jacket's front pocket and loaded them into the magazine of his Remington 870 shotgun when an explosion erupted to his left. Juan dropped his shotgun and fell onto his backside as he watched a column of fire shoot up into the sky.

The sound of the explosion made the others on the skirmish line and several of the walkers opposite them fall to the ground.

"What the hell was that?" Alonso asked as he dropped his M16 A4 assault rifle and covered his ears.

A second later everyone saw a fireball shoot up into the air, and when they sat up and looked to their left, they saw a destroyed Humvee burning in the distance.

"Did Daryl blow up a car?" Tyreese asked.

"I hope that son of a bitch blew himself up with it!" Sam shouted.

"Shut the hell up!" John ordered as he pointed forward with his Colt M1911A1 pistol. "Look!"

The El Dorado group and the Woodbury group followed John's orders and saw that the herd had stopped in their tracks and was now looking at the large flames flickering to their right. A moment later, one walker started staggering towards the fire, and the rest of the herd followed it.

Julia dropped her Ithaca 37 "Stakeout" shotgun and clasped her hands together as she started to cry.

John holstered his pistol, and crawled over to Julia; he wrapped his arms around her and put a hand over her mouth. "Shut up, kid," he whispered. "If those geeks hear you, they'll forget about the burning car and come marching back to us."

Julia stopped crying and nodded that she'd be quiet.

John raised himself up slightly and looked at the rest of the El Dorado group and his own Woodbury group. "Everybody, shut up and stay down," he whispered urgently.

The others didn't nod, but they stayed down, and held their breath as they watched the herd stagger slowly towards the burning car.

•••

Rick entered the lobby of the El Dorado and gasped in shock when he saw Sora with his hand covering Carl's mouth. Rick's shock was quickly replaced with anger, and he aimed down the iron sights of his Colt Python revolver at the Japanese gambler. Sora noticed Rick's move, so he swung Carl in front of him and squeezed the hand over Carl's mouth, making the boy wince painfully.

"Welcome back to the El Dorado, Officer Grimes," Sora quipped.

"Let my son go," Rick ordered.

Sora shook his head. "You Americans are truly pig-headed. I told you before: we are not negotiating again!"

The sound of Michonne's footsteps entering the lobby rang in Rick's ears. When Rick sensed Michonne's presence standing to his left, he raised a hand to signal her to halt; she complied.

Rick kept his service revolver aimed on Sora, but his eyes searched the lobby for Harold. _He wouldn't be behind the reception desk; too obvious,_ Rick thought. _He might be hiding in the tavern, or on the second floor_.

Rick looked at Carl, who moved his eyes repeatedly to his left…the slot machine room. Rick looked at Carl again and nodded his head to signal that he understood Carl's warning. Rick began walking towards Sora and Carl cautiously, a moment later Michonne followed, holding her katana in both hands.

"We're both running out of time, Miyaguchi," Rick warned.

"I disagree," Sora said.

Rick listened to the gunfire outside for a moment, he didn't dare think what might happen if Daryl and the others were overrun by the herd. "We need to leave… **now** ," he said firmly.

"There is no **"we"** in the plan I explained to you earlier."

Rick stopped walking, he was close enough to see the blood under Carl's chin from the cut Sora inflected with his katana; he could also see the rising bruises on the left side of Carl's face from when Sora slammed him against one of the main entrance's glass doors. Rick looked at Sora, and his complexion turned red with anger while his finger tightened around his gun's trigger.

 _I want to empty all six rounds into that bastard's face, but I can't get a clear shot,_ Rick thought. _Carl's life is in danger, Harold's likely pointing his rifle at me in the next room, and Daryl and the others can't keep the herd back much longer._

 _I don't have a hand to deal in this game except one._

"I've got a new offer for you," Rick said.

Sora raised his head slightly. "I am listening."

"Everyone who's still alive gets to leaves this casino and goes to the prison; everyone except me."

Sora didn't even blink at Rick's offer, but Carl's and Michonne's eyes widened in shock.

"No, Rick," Michonne protested, "You don't have to—"

"I do, Michonne," Rick interrupted as he holstered his service revolver. "To save Carl's life, I'll do it."

Harold appeared in the slot machine room's arched doorway; he had his MK 18 Mod 0 assault carbine aimed at Rick, but he lowered it to the ground slowly.

"Nobody else dies, not my people, not your people," Rick said. "When you get to our vehicles in the parking lot Daryl and Michonne will lead your group and John's group to the prison."

After a few seconds of contemplation Sora nodded, "I accept."

Tears ran down Carl's face.

Harold walked into the lobby and looked at Rick in disbelief. _I thought this guy was a psycho, but he's sacrificing himself to save his son_ , he thought.

"Rick, this…plan of yours is insane!" Michonne said angrily. "Hershel, Glenn, they'll ask what happened to you!"

"Tell Hershel and Glenn that the walkers got me while I covered your escape," Rick interrupted as he got down on his knees. "Tell them they got Floyd and Frankie, too."

"You…you can't sacrifice yourself!"

Rick looked up at Michonne. "I brought us here because I thought this casino would be empty. I was wrong. It's my mistake, Michonne. You and Daryl are the prison's leaders now. Tell him I don't want any acts of revenge against Sora and his people. Take good care of Carl and Judith. Okay?"

Michonne stared at Rick as she shook with rage.

"Okay?" Rick repeated a bit louder.

"Okay,"Michonne answered reluctantly.

Rick looked at his crying son; he trembled a bit, but he managed to smile bravely. "I'm sorry, Carl. Help Michonne take care of your baby sister, okay? I love you," he said as his eyes began to water.

Carl shut his crying eyes and lowered his head, a sob echoed from his covered mouth.

"You are an honorable man, Officer Grimes. You have my word that your people at the prison shall speak your name with reverence," Sora said.

Rick didn't reply, but Michonne huffed in contempt at Sora's compliment.

"Mr. Singleton," Sora said.

Harold blinked and looked at Sora. "Yeah, boss?"

Sora took his hand away from Carl's mouth, and shoved the boy towards Harold. "Hold him," he ordered.

Harold nodded nervously. "Yeah, okay."

Carl opened his eyes and looked at his father; his face was so wet from crying it looked like he'd splashed water on his face. "Daaaad," he moaned achingly.

"It's all right, Carl," Rick said.

Harold moved his assault carbine to his left hand and took hold of Carl's shoulder. "I'm sorry, kid," he said. "I'm so sorry."

Sora looked at Michonne, who stood poised to strike like a lioness. "Your sword," he said with a nod at her katana.

Michonne looked at her katana and then at Rick. Rick nodded and Michonne sheathed her weapon.

Sora then moved his own sheathed katana to his left hand and wrapped his right hand around its worn handle. "This will be a swift death, Officer Grimes," he promised.

Rick closed his eyes and thought about his wife Lori: she thought he died in the King County hospital during the early days of the walker apocalypse, and had affair with Rick's best friend and law enforcement partner Shane Walsh. Now they both were dead; Lori's death coming from an emergency Caesarian section to bring Judith into the world.

 _Lori, I'll be with you soon,_ Rick thought.

KA-BOOM!

An explosion burst outside. The five survivors in the lobby either spin around or look up at the lobby entrance.

"What the hell was that?" Harold asked.

"An explosion!" Rick answered.

"You mean like a bomb?"

Michonne seized the opportunity and lunged at Sora, but the Japanese gambler was faster and struck her on the head with a karate chop, and knocked her to the marble floor. Harold started to bring up his assault carbine, but Rick sprang to his feet and tackled Harold like a linebacker.

"What the...?" Harold shouted as he began to falling backwards. He let go of Carl as he inadvertently squeezed the trigger of his assault carbine.

BRAKKA! BRAKKA! BRAKKA!

The carbine's bullets tore into the top of the large palm tree, and several of its leaves broke free and floated with bullet holes inside them to rest on the furniture or the lobby floor.

Rick straddled Harold's stomach and struck him in the face with a right cross. The truck driver lost his grip on the assault carbine, and Rick picked it up and threw it as far away as he could.

Sora grabbed Carl by the back of his jacket's collar and began running towards the stone staircase.

"Dad!" Carl screamed.

Rick looked over his shoulder and saw Carl being dragged up the stone staircase by Sora. When they reached the second floor they ran down a hallway and vanished from sight. "Carl!" he shouted in horror.

Harold punched Rick in the jaw and he fell off the truck driver's stomach. Harold stood up, and when Rick got to his feet, repaid the tackle with one of his own that sent the two men falling over one of the lobby's chairs.

Michonne got back on her feet, drew her katana and ran after Sora and Carl; her hooded cape billowed behind her. "I'll get him!" she shouted as she charged up the stone staircase.

"Save Carl, Michonne!" Rick pleaded as he struggled with Harold on the lobby floor. "Save my son!"


	21. Chapter 21

**CHAPTER 21**

Daryl felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up when he heard the familiar, chilling sound of a herd of walkers growling in unison. He stayed flat on the parking lot, and looked beyond the front tires of the Mercedes –Benz that he was lying beside and saw the herd's rotting feet staggering slowly closer.

Daryl carefully slid his Stryker Stryekzone 380 crossbow in front of him, and then he slowly pulled the string back until it locked underneath the latch. He had already shot one arrow into a walker, and he had used another as an improvised dipstick to get a golf club rag soaked with gasoline from the Humvee's tank for the explosion that distracted the herd; now there were three arrows left in his quiver. Daryl selected the replacement arrow with red and yellow vanes and placed it on the flight groove.

There was a bump on the opposite side of the Mercedes-Benz and Daryl caught his breath; a second later the bump happened again and it became continuous. Daryl turned his head to the left slowly and looked underneath the car to see dozens of feet; most wearing moldering shoes and sneakers, some barefoot, but all of them rotting flesh, staggering past the Mercedes-Benz on the way to the burning wreck of the Humvee.

 _This cuckoo plan is actually workin'!_ Daryl thought with surprise.

There was a louder bump up front, and Daryl looked forward quickly to see that a naked female walker had stumbled against the Mercedes-Benz's front and struck the hood head first. Daryl held his breath again as he watched the female walker push its upper body off the hood, then growl angrily and push itself away from the car and stagger along with the herd. Daryl exhaled a quiet sigh of relief.

Daryl looked in the direction he had run and saw the Woodbury group and the El Dorado group lying on the courtyard as the herd staggered past them and towards the burning Humvee.

 _At least those assholes have the sense to stay out of sight_.

Daryl next looked at the main entrance to the El Dorado: Rick, Carl, and Michonne had not yet exited the casino.

 _What the fuck's goin' on in there?_ Daryl wondered angrily.

There was another bump at the front of the Mercedes – Benz, and Daryl saw a tall, male walker wearing a torn, and blood stained rain poncho. The poncho walker stood in front of the car with an angry expression on its face, and then it moved to its right and continued on with the herd. Daryl felt a bead of sweat roll down his forehead, but he didn't dare raise his hand to wipe it away.

 _I can't lie out here like a cigarette butt much longer. I either have to crawl, run like hell, or stay here and yell at Rick to pick me up before he gets out of Dodge_.

Daryl laid still and considered his limited options while the herd continued along and bump into the opposite side of the Mercedes – Benz.

•••

The Woodbury group and the El Dorado group stayed down on the courtyard as the herd staggered on to the burning Humvee.

"Does anybody see Dixon?" John whispered as he held onto the crying, frightened Julia.

Tyreese lifted himself up slightly and squint his eyes with the hope of seeing the gruff redneck alive somewhere in the parking lot, after a few moments he sank down and answered "No."

Juan shut his eyes and put his hands on his temples. _Another innocent man dead,_ he thought angrily as his fingers twisted around his hair, _only one man should've died today, and that's Rick Grimes!_

Sam lifted himself up and grinned with satisfaction at the sight of the burning Humvee. "I told all of you he's dead," he gloated.

"Shut up, you fucker!" Julia spat as the tears seeped through her shut eyelids.

Sam looked confused at Julia. "What's the hell's gotten into her?" he asked as he looked around at the other survivors.

"Sam," John said as he glared at his fellow Woodburian.

"Yeah?" Sam replied.

"Shut the fuck up," John ordered.

Sam's complexion turned pale and he lowered himself down to the courtyard.

John looked down at Julia who was still crying; he shook her gently. "Are you okay, kid?" he asked.

Julia opened her eyes and wiped the tears away. "I…I think so," she answered quietly.

John patted Julia's shoulder reassuringly and let her go. The young cocktail waitress sniffled and her index finger underneath her nose.

"Okay, so Dixon's dead. What about Rick and Michonne?" Karen asked.

John turned around and looked at the main entrance to the El Dorado. He saw Frankie's corpse (with a gunshot wound to the center of his chest and another one to his forehead) sitting against a shattered glass door; to Frankie's right was the set of open doors Karen and Julia had guarded while everyone went back and forth loading the supplies onto Rick's vehicles.

Rick and Michonne had yet to run through those open doors with Rick's son, Carl.

"They're still in the casino," John answered.

"Maybe they're dead too," Amare suggested.

"Rick and Michonne, dead? No way, man," Tyreese said with a shake of his head.

"I think they **are** dead," Alonso replied. "Harold went back in there with Miyaguchi, and I've seen him kill dozens of those geeks on our supply runs!"

John growled and waved a hand dismissively. "Rick's a cop; he's been trained to handle an armed son of a bitch."

"What about Miyaguchi, he's got a sword?" Julia asked. "He made us all watch when he'd kill somebody for breaking his stupid rules!"

"Never bring a knife to a gunfight," John quipped. "Besides Michonne's got a samurai sword too."

"Miyaguchi's good with that sword, amigo," Alonso said forbiddingly.

"No shit?" Tyreese asked.

"Sí," Alonso nodded.

Tyreese chuckled and adjusted the claw hammer hanging at his side. "Well, me and my sister Sasha heard what Michonne did with her sword to the walkers the Governor kept for those gladiatorial matches."

At the mention of the Governor's name, Juan caught his breath and moved his hands back to his Remington 870 shotgun.

"Gladitorial matches?" Amare asked as he looked at Tyreese in disbelief. "What kind of town did you guys come from?"

Tyreese huffed wearily and shook his head. "It's a long story, my man."

Amare looked back at the herd, gathering around the burning Humvee. "I hope I get to hear it."

"Excuse me everybody, but what the fuck are we going to do now?" Karen asked irritably.

Sam raised a hand. "I vote we leave," he said.

"And leave Rick, Michonne, and the kid behind?" Tyreese asked.

"They're dead!" Sam answered with certainty.

"You don't know that," Tyreese said as he glared at Sam.

"Then why haven't they come back?" Sam asked.

Tyreese and the other survivors looked silently at the El Dorado. Amare glanced down at his AR-15 rifle, and tightened his grip on the weapon. "I'll go get them," he said as he sat up.

"Get down, kid," John ordered as he looked at the young ADA.

Amare lied back on the courtyard as John ordered without debate.

"We can't risk those geeks seeing you run back into the casino," John explained. "We'll just have to wait for Rick and Michonne to come out."

"And how long are we supposed to wait?" Karen asked.

"As long as it takes," John answered. "Leave no man behind."

"That fire's not going to distract that herd forever," Sam insisted as he thumbed over his shoulder. "We've got to get in those trucks now and haul ass to the prison."

"Is that a fact, Sam?" John asked.

Sam looked at the other survivors and then looked over his shoulder at the herd, growling and grasping at the flames billowing out of the Humvee. Sam looked at John again and answered, "You're damn right it's a fact, John."

John dug into his jeans pocket and held out a set of car keys. "Well, how's this for fact? I've got the keys to the Silverado, Tyreese has the keys to the bread truck, and Rick had the keys to the Dodge Ram, and he apparently is dead! So would you like to do the math?"

Sam's complexion went pale slowly.

"That's right, Einstein: we don't have room to carry all of us!"

The Woodbury group and the El Dorado group looked at each other nervously.

Sam pointed a shaking finger at the parking lot and stammered, "But we…we could…hotwire a…car…"

"Key word being **could!** " John interrupted angrily. "I don't know how to hotwire a goddamn car! When the world went to shit, me and Donna got in our car, and we drove until we found Woodbury! From there on in, that son of a bitch Governor sat me in a rocking chair while he built a security team with that druggie Merle Dixon!"

Sam looked around at the other survivors anxiously. "Somebody…somebody's got to know how to hotwire a car, right?"

The Woodbury group and the El Dorado group looked at each and mumbled quizzically.

"My older brother Marcos used to steal cars back when we were niños," Alonso said.

Sam smiled. "Okay. Did he teach you how—"

"He was killed in a crash while running from the cops," Alonso interrupted. "I promised my madre that I'd never follow in Marcos' footsteps."

Sam's smile fell like the stock exchange and he put his head down on the courtyard. "Oh, we're all fucked," he muttered.

John looked at the despondent Sam and shook his head in disgust. The Woodbury group and El Dorado group looked at each other again, only this time worriedly.

"So you want us to just stay here?" Julia asked quietly.

John looked back again at the front entrance to the El Dorado, and answered, "No, I want us to stay here and wait for Rick."

 _Madre de Dios, I can't believe that John's gone from not trusting Rick Grimes to believing in him!_ Juan thought. _What did it take to ease your doubts, amigo? Was it Rick's offer to go on this supply run, was it being treated as a veteran instead of an old man? Or maybe it was how the Governor got me to believe in him: by telling me what I wanted to hear._

Juan thought of the Governor—Philip—and that night those five young men were slaughtered in their own camp.

•••

"Why did you kill them?!" Juan asked as he stood up from the campfire.

Philip was holding his nickel plated Beretta 92SB Compact pistol in his hand and was looking down at Lance, the young man who had led the group of college kids and was now lying dead on the ground with a bullet in his chest and another bullet in his forehead. Philip looked up at Juan and said, "For the supplies and the gas. I didn't want to kill them, but that's the way the world works now."

 _No. There had to be another way,_ Juan thought.

"You could've asked them to join us!" Juan shouted.

Philip holstered his pistol, and picked up Lance's Steyr AUG A1 assault rifle. "If you remember, I asked if **we** could join **them,** but instead of **accepting** us, they **laughed** at us."

 _Sí, he did ask them that. And they did laugh at us. They even wanted us to leave._

"Then you should've just taken their supplies!" Juan argued.

"And if I did that, they'd have gone after us, and then I'd have to kill them; but I'd put my own people at risk, like your wife, Marianna."

Juan pictured Marianna, dying in his arms in the aftermath of a gunfight, and then he thought, _No! Marianna can't die!_

"You…you should've tried to make a deal!" Juan said.

"A deal? With what and how long should I have tried?" Philip asked. "You saw the way they behaved, Juan, they thought this was a game, but this is survival."

 _Sí, we can't stay here all night. And those muchachos were stupid. If they joined us, they'd have gotten us all killed, or maybe they'd have killed us._

"What…what do we tell the others back at camp?"

Philip walked over to Juan and put a hand on his shoulder. "Let me worry about that. But right now, let's just gather up the supplies and the gas. Everyone back at camp must be worried about us."

Juan nodded, and he followed Philip and his minion Nick into the camp and the three of them began to collect the supplies and the gas cans.

"Juan," Philip said.

Juan turned towards Philip slowly.

Philp said, "Remember, this is the way the world works now."

•••

"Buenos Dias, Juan!" a familiar, irritated voice called over the fog of memory.

Juan blinked and the memory of his conversation with the Governor vanished and was replaced by the image of John, lying on his stomach, and glaring at him angrily.

"Qué?" Juan asked.

"Nice of you to wake up, buddy," John said sarcastically. "How many shells you've got left?"

Juan let go of his shotgun and dug into the pockets of his jacket. "Three," he answered as he showed the shells to John.

John grumbled with disappointment and pointed at Karen. "How much ammo you've got left?"

Karen ejected the 30-round magazine from her M4A1 rifle and tested its weight. "Half full," she answered.

"How about you?" John asked as he pointed at Alonso.

The chef ejected his own 30-round magazine from his M16A4 assault rifle and examined it as he would an entrée before he sent it out to the waiter. "Half empty," he answered.

"You?" John asked Amare.

The young ADA ejected the magazine to his AR-15 rifle and held it to John like it was a pamphlet. "Empty," he whispered.

John snorted in amusement. "Now are you glad I stopped you from running into that casino, huh?"

Amare placed his empty magazine next to his rifle and said nothing.

"How about you, kid?" John asked Julia.

Julia slid her Ithaca 37 "Stakeout" shotgun out in front of her. "I…I just loaded my last four shells; I've also got a handgun," she answered as she touched the walnut grips of the Smith & Wesson 64 snub-nose revolver holstered to her side.

John nodded. "Good."

"I've got a pistola too," Alonso said as he touched the handle of his holstered Beretta M9 pistol.

"Good," John nodded again, "save it for when your rifle runs out of ammo."

"I've got my gun too," Sam said nervously as he drew the civilian model of the Beretta M9.

"Fuck! Don't point that gun at me, Sam!" John shouted as he covered his face with his arms.

Sam put his gun down in front of him and folded his hands over his slouch hat. "Sorry, John," he muttered.

"Sshhh!" Karen whispered with a finger to her lips. A moment later she looked to see if any of the herd surrounding the burning Humvee had heard John's shouting…they hadn't.

John pulled his arms away from his face and gave Sam one last contemptuous glare before looking over at Tyreese. "Okay, Jim Brown, how many shells have you got left?" he asked sarcastically.

Tyreese rolled onto his side, dug into one of the pouches to his utility harness, and held out one shotgun shell.

"Keep that hammer close, buddy," John suggested.

"I heard that," Tyreese replied as he loaded the shell into his Mossberg 500 shotgun.

"How many bullets do you have, amigo?" Juan asked John.

"I loaded my last magazine before Dixon blew himself all to hell," John answered as he raised his Colt M1911A1 pistol for emphasis.

"So we're all running out of time and bullets, but you still want us to wait for Rick?"

John stared at Juan for a few moments, and then he looked back at the El Dorado. "We either wait here, or run back to the prison." John looked at the Woodbury group and El Dorado group, all of them waiting anxiously for his decision. "We're staying," he said firmly.

The Woodbury group and the El Dorado group looked at each nervously, and then they looked at the herd surrounding and growling at the burning Humvee.

"I hope you're right, man," Tyreese said.

"Me too," John admitted.

Juan shut his eyes and shook his head with anger. _So you're going to risk our lives for one man, huh, John? A man who would be on his way back to the prison right now if it was all of us in that casino!_

Juan realized that the Governor—Philip—had manipulated him into thinking that killing those young men for their supplies was necessary for the survival of the group. The Governor was a manipulator, and so was Rick. Juan's wife Marianna had warned him several times about Rick, but he didn't realize she was right until it was too late.

Rick manipulated everyone in the prison into thinking the women, children, and the elderly had to starve while the construction crew put up a new gate. Juan realized now that if Rick returned to the prison, it was just a matter of time before he started killing people for being a drain on resources or being too weak to defend their new home.

•••

Rick and Harold had their hands around each other's throats as they rolled around the lobby's marble floor. The truck driver was still hungover and slow from drinking on sentry duty last night, but he was taller and heavier than the sheriff's deputy; he got on top of Rick and hit him with one punch after another. Rick put his hands on Harold's chest, and shoved the truck driver off him. Harold stumbled backwards, knocked another chair over, and fell to the marble floor.

Rick got to his feet, stomped over to Harold, and pulled him up by his shoulders. Rick then threw Harold towards the reception desk; his right side hit it with a loud thump and he shouted in pain.

Rick moved on Harold again, but the truck driver recovered quickly enough to throw a punch at him; Rick blocked it with his left arm, and threw a punch with his right hand that hit Harold on the jaw and sent him spinning back towards the reception desk; Harold's upper body was draped over the granite top of the reception desk like bunting, and he was gasping for air.

"It's over," Rick said as he opened the handcuff pouch on his gun belt, and took out the infamous "bracelets".

Rick walked over to Harold, and snapped one cuff onto his right wrist. The feeling of cold steel on his skin awoken Harold and his eyes searched the reception desk frantically for a weapon. Harold spotted the hotel phone lying on the counter, and he grabbed it with his left hand just as Rick was bringing his right arm behind his back. Harold lifted the phone up as he turned around and struck Rick on his left temple. Rick fell to the marble floor while the phone itself flew off its receiver and a moment later Harold let go of his improvised weapon and it swung back and forth on its wire like a pendulum.

"You…crazy…son of a bitch," Harold gasped as he grabbed Rick by the collar of his jacket. "I was starting to think I was wrong about you. I thought…I thought you were a decent man after all."

Harold yanked Rick to his feet, but the sheriff's deputy hit him with an elbow to the stomach, and when Harold doubled over, Rick grabbed the truck driver by the small of his back, and shoved him towards one of the lobby's sofas—the same sofa he napped on hours ago while everyone was gathering up the supplies they came to the El Dorado for.

Harold thrashed wildly on the sofa; he reached for the Glock 17 pistol holstered to his side, but Rick drew his Colt Python revolver faster.

"Freeze!" Rick ordered as he aimed his revolver at Harold.

Harold drew his pistol and sat up, but he froze at the sight of the muzzle to the .357 revolver looking across the lobby at him.

"Drop the gun!" Rick ordered.

Harold held onto his pistol.

"Drop it!" Rick ordered again.

Harold dropped his hands to his lap, but he still held onto his pistol. "Aren't you going to kill me?" he asked Rick.

Rick blinked. "What?" he retorted.

"Aren't you going to kill me?" Harold repeated. "That's what you do isn't it?"

Rick lowered his gun slightly. "What are you talking about?"

Harold leaned back on the sofa wearily. "Last night your friend Juan told Miyaguchi and me all about your friend the Governor."

Rick's complexion turned pale and the mention of his former enemy's title. "The Governor?" he whispered.

Harold wiped the blood away from his mouth with his cuffed left hand and sighed wearily. "Yeah," he said.

Rick looked to his left at the marble staircase: Just minutes ago, Sora had pulled Carl up that staircase, but Michonne had gone after them. Rick's heart told him to run up that staircase and save his son, but his police instincts told him he couldn't leave Harold armed.

"Listen," Rick said as he looked at Harold. "I've got to find my son, and I can't leave you here with a gun at my back. So you can just go outside and help the others—"

"They're getting chewed up right now, Rick," Harold interrupted sadly. "And after the geeks finish eating them, they'll walk in here and eat us."

Rick shook his head. "You don't know that."

"I don't have to see it to know it. But I did see how you were willing to give your life to save your boy. That's the kind of man you are Rick; who you really are."

Rick looked at the marble staircase again and he gritted his teeth over being stuck with Harold. "I don't care what you think of me, Harold. I've got to find my son before—"

"Don't worry about your boy," Harold interrupted, "Michonne will save him. I've got a feeling about that woman; when she sets her mind onto something, you better get the hell out of her way."

Rick lowered his service revolver and stared at the beaten and bloody truck driver who sat on the sofa. After a minute Rick asked, "What exactly did Juan say last night?"

Harold glanced at the lobby entranceway to his left and looked at Rick. "We don't have much time, so I'll give you the edited version."

•••

Sora continued to pull Carl behind him as he ran through the hallways of the second floor to the El Dorado. It was impossible for Carl to keep up for long and the boy finally lost his footing and fell face first onto the carpeted floor.

Carl was light, but he weighed enough to make Sora stop running. The Japanese gambler looked down at the prone boy and swore in his native language.

"Stand up," Sora ordered as he tightened his right hand tightened its grip on the scabbard of his sheathed katana.

Carl panted for breath, and stayed on the floor.

"Stand up!" Sora shouted as he yanked on Carl's arm.

Carl screamed in pain as Sora pulled him to his feet.

Sora bent down so he was eye to eye with Carl. "Silence!" he ordered.

The look of pain on Carl's face was quickly replaced with a look of rage, and he hit Sora with his left hand.

Sora glared at Carl, and his nostrils flared with rage, but the boy glared back at him.

"Move," Sora ordered as he stood up and pushed Carl ahead of him.

"What're you going to do now, hide in a closet?" Carl quipped.

"On the contrary, we are still leaving this casino," Sora retorted.

Carl snorted in contempt. "Without Harold? Some friend you are."

Sora slapped the back of Carl's head. The boy cried in pain and his arms covered the top of his head.

"Mr. Singleton was not my friend; he was a man who helped maintain order in this casino. I thought he was reliable, but his drunken behavior this morning says that I was wrong about him."

"Yeah? Well, now he's dead and my dad's going to kill you next."

"Hardly. Even if your father survives his fight with Mr. Singleton, we will have long departed this casino."

Carl looked over his shoulder. "What?" he asked.

"I secretly stocked a pickup truck with supplies months ago in the emergency that I may have to evacuate this casino. We shall take the pickup truck and you will take me to your prison. Of course, you will not be alive when we get there, but I will make certain your people do not forget your bravery when you watched your father and your group get swarmed by the Oni, and when I was forced to amputate your arm after an Oni had bitten you."

Sora and Carl continued walking along the hallways, then Carl's eyes widened and he stopped him his tracks. " **You** were the one **stealing supplies** from your **group!** " he shouted as he turned around and looked up at Sora. "And then you **blamed** other **people** for itand you **executed** them!"

Sora smiled and patted Carl's head like he was a dog that performed a trick. "It is one thing to claim your innocence, and it is another thing to prove it."

Sora's hand moved to Carl's shoulder, he turned the boy around, pushed him forward, and they continued along the hallways.

•••

After a few minutes Sora and Carl came to a large lobby: across from them was a granite plaque, flanked by a set of wooden doors. Wooden benches were set against the walls along with clay flower pots holding Poinsettias. Carl took a longer look at the plaque and chiseled upon it was the legend: MOCTEZUMA THEATER. In front of the plaque was a notice stand that read in white letters: ALL SHOWS CANCELLED DUE TO THE END OF THE WORLD.

Sora pushed Carl towards the set of doors on the left; he opened one door and pushed Carl inside. "Move," he ordered.

Carl found himself in a cloud of darkness; he put his arms out so he wouldn't bump into anything and he walked forward uncertainly; he gasped when he felt Sora's hand on his back.

"Move," Sora repeated as he shoved Carl further into the darkness.

Carl stumbled forward and he yelped when he began falling forward. He put his hands out to his sides, and his left hand grabbed onto a cylindrical object, and his right foot landed on a step. A moment later light flooded into the darkness and Carl shut his eyes from the shock. When Carl opened his eyes, he saw that he was in a large theater, and he stood on a staircase that descended from the balcony to the auditorium; the cylindrical object he grabbed earlier was a handrail.

Footsteps approached Carl from behind and a moment later he felt Sora's hand on his shoulder again.

"Go," Sora ordered as he shoved Carl forward.

Carl held onto the handrail as he started to walk down the staircase. He looked around the theater and saw the rows of seats had maroon padding, and the walls had murals of the Aztec's daily life, up ahead was a stage framed by a gold curtain.

"Beautiful theater, is it not my young friend?" Sora asked as he walked down the balcony's seats behind Carl.

Carl glared over his shoulder at Sora, and said nothing.

"Some **washed up pop singer** was the casino's opening act; unfortunately, that was also the same day the **Oni** appeared in Atlanta," Sora explained. "The poor girl was amongst the **first group** of guests and employees that **attempted** to escape. I saw her when I went out on the first supply run weeks later; well, it was not exactly **her** , if you **understand** my meaning."

Carl shivered as he stepped off the staircase and into the auditorium.

"The exit is behind the stage," Sora said as he pushed Carl forward. "When we get outside do not bother shouting for your father. In their final moments one should try to keep their dignity."

"I told you my dad's going to kill you," Carl said confidently as he stepped onto the stage.

"Your father is not here is he?" Sora asked.

"No, he's not," said a woman's voice.

Sora and Carl both stopped in their tracks and spun around to look at the top of the staircase to see Michonne standing there with her hooded cape billowing behind her like a superhero and with her katana in her hand.

•••

"He killed those college kids?" Rick asked in disbelief.

"That's what Juan told us," Harold answered.

Rick thought about Bryan; from the story Harold just recalled he was barely older than Carl. "Did he kill the boy too?"

Harold closed his eyes and nodded. "Yeah," he whispered.

Rick lowered his head, he knew the Governor was a murderer, even crazy, but he never thought the Governor was capable of killing a child.

"He killed them all for their supplies," Rick said in shock.

"Yeah, so excuse the fuck out of me and my friends for thinking you'd do the same thing," Harold spat.

Rick looked up at Harold and his eyes burned with rage. "No, I would never have done that!" he retorted as he pointed his service revolver for emphasis.

"Really? You're the man in your group. You run shit, don't you?"

"What the hell are you talking about?" Rick asked.

"I've been trapped in this damn casino for over a year and three things happen when one man runs shit," Harold answered as he held up three fingers from his cuffed left hand. "They either fuck up, can't cut it, or they go crazy.

"The first guy that ran this casino took a big group out for a supply run; he got half of them torn apart along with him! The second guy hanged himself, and the third guy chopped people's heads off for stealing food or wasting electricity!"

Harold put his left hand down and lowered his head again. A moment later a sob burst from his mouth and he raised his hand again to wipe his tears away. "When you offered to take us all with you to that prison, I smiled for the first time in months," he muttered. "I thought we were finally getting the fuck out of this place."

"It's not too late, Harold," Rick insisted. "You and your people can still—"

"They're dead, Rick," Harold interrupted.

Rick suddenly thought of Hershel, the farmer who always knew the right thing to say whenever he was depressed or overwhelmed. "You can't say that, Harold. You've got to have…faith."

"I've burnt up all my faith, and I don't deserve any blessings from God," Harold interrupted. "I've got blood on my hands the same as Miyaguchi."

Harold put out his hands; he opened his left, but he still held onto the Glock 17 pistol in his right.

"I could've stopped all those executions; I could've argued with Miyaguchi, or I could've put a bullet in his goddamn head, but I didn't. I didn't give a damn at first because I didn't know any of those poor bastards, and I liked that Miygauchi named me his right hand man, but the more people we lost, the harder it was for me to take the thief or the idiot out in the back so Miyaguchi could chop their heads off with that goddamn sword of his!"

Harold put his hands down in his lap again, and he leaned back on the sofa as if he was exhausted.

 _He's still holding on to that gun_ ,Rick thought as he stared at the Glock 17 pistol in Harold's hand. _I've got to convince him to drop it, but he's too high-strung now._

"I told Julie to hand over your kid, Rick. What've you got to say about that?" Harold asked as he looked up at the sheriff's deputy.

For a few moments, Rick's hand tightened around the handle of his Colt Python revolver, but he loosed his grip. "She didn't listen to you, Harold. Carl's alive. I have faith your people are alive, too."

"I've burnt up all my faith, remember?" Harold asked. "I was willing to let a boy die, because I want to stay alive. I was supposed to ambush you and Michonne because I want to stay alive!"

Rick nodded. "I get it, Harold. You want to live. Your people want to live too, but they realized they didn't have to follow Miyaguchi stay alive. Go outside and help them with the herd, I've got to go help Michonne rescue Carl."

Harold shook his head, and tears began to run down his face. "It's too late for me, Rick. I was afraid that we'd all die in this casino, and today's the day."

Harold raised his pistol and stuck the barrel underneath his chin.

"No, Harold!" Rick shouted as his eyes widened.

"Save your boy, Rick," Harold said before he pulled the trigger.

BLAM!

The bullet went through the bottom of Harold's chin, and it continued through his brain and finally exited out the top of his head, taking blood and brain matter with it. The last impulses from Harold's destroyed brain ran through his body, and a second later he sat on the sofa limply, with his right hand still gripping onto the pistol.

Rick stood in horror as he processed what he'd just witnessed. The fatal gunshot rang in his ears, along with Harold's last words: "Save your boy, Rick."


	22. Chapter 22

**CHAPTER 22**

"You Americans are full of surprises," Sora grinned as he looked up at Michonne.

"And you people are full of bullshit," Michonne replied as she glared down at Sora.

"Can you have some respect, Michonne?" Sora asked. "In the early 20th century, Japan was a military empire poised to conquer Asia and the Pacific Ocean; World War II ended that, but towards the end of that same century, Japan had become a technological empire, selling automobiles, televisions, and computers to every nation in the world!"

"I'm not talking about the Japanese; I'm talking about motherfuckers like you," Michonne said as she pointed her katana at Sora.

Sora's grin disappeared from his face. "You will suffer for that insult, woman!" he vowed while pointing his sheathed katana at Michonne.

Michonne grinned and raised her own katana. "You want to teach me a lesson, Sora? It won't be as easy as beating on a little boy."

Michonne began to walk down the balcony steps. Carl felt a wave of fear rush through Sora's body and traveled down to the hand that was gripping his shoulder.

"Who is it that you are comparing me to?" Sora asked meekly.

"The Governor," Michonne answered.

Sora's courage returned; he tightened his grip on Carl's shoulder, and the boy winced in pain.

"Ah yes, The Governor. Mr. Zavala told me about him, but he did not tell me that you know him as well. I wonder: do you know the Governor…intimately?"

Michonne stopped in her tracks and glared at Sora.

"Mr. Zavala watched as the Governor murdered five young men and a boy for their supplies," Sora continued, "he was afraid that Rick Grimes would become like the Governor and kill his friends and my associates on the road to that damned prison. You must understand that I had to prevent that from happening."

"A leader has to do what's best for his people, right?" Michonne asked.

"Right," Sora answered.

"Then I suppose you'd call killing Carl, Daryl, and me 'collateral damage'," Michonne said as she resumed walking down the balcony steps.

Sora grinned and replied, "I would have called killing the three of you a 'necessary evil', especially after you vowed I would not get away with killing Rick Grimes."

"You're not going to get away with beating his son either."

Sora looked down at the bruises on Carl's face. "Why do you care about this boy, Michonne? He is clearly not related to you."

Michonne stepped onto the auditorium and looked at Carl for a few moments. "He's my friend," she answered.

Carl smiled at Michonne.

"Well, your friend can watch you die," Sora threatened. "The Moctezuma Theater will host its first performance since the world came to an end."

Michonne placed her katana across a chair in the front row, and then she unslung her scabbard from her back and placed it beside her sword; she unfastened her hooded cape, draped it over another chair, and picked up her sword.

"Take a seat and watch the show, boy," Sora ordered as he shoved Carl towards the stage's edge.

Carl rubbed his right shoulder and glared up at Sora.

"Sit down, Carl," Michonne ordered.

Carl jumped off the stage and sat in the chair next to Michonne's scabbard. He looked at Michonne. "Good luck," he said quietly.

Michonne nodded her thanks and walked towards the steps along the side of the stage.

Sora watched as Michonne began climbing up the steps and said, "I intend to take your sword to the prison. Remember that I told you earlier that you have no right to wield it."

Michonne stepped onto the stage and said nothing.

"May I have time to remove my coat and jacket?" Sora asked.

"Sure," Michonne answered. "I don't want to hear any excuses from you as to why you lost before I cut your fucking head off."

Sora smiled in amusement and knelt down to place his sheathed katana onto the stage. He stood up, undid his black trench coat, and shrugged it off; he undid his tailored Italian business suit, and shrugged that off too. He unknotted his silk tie and let it fall to the stage, and unbuttoned his shirt collar. He removed his gold cufflinks and rolled his sleeves up to his forearms (the handkerchief was still wrapped around his left wrist where Carl had bitten him); he knelt down again, picked up his sheathed katana, drew the blade, and dropped the scratched scabbard onto the stage. He gripped his katana's worn handle with both hands and stood at the ready.

Across the stage, Michonne gripped her katana with both hands and stood at the ready.

Sora raised his katana over his head, charged at Michonne, and brought the blade down in a chopping motion.

KLANG!

Michonne blocked the blow with her katana, and the two opponents leaned on their blades and shoved back and forth in a struggle to gain the upper hand; Michonne felt that she was losing, so she stepped to her left, grabbed hold of Sora's belt, and shoved him towards the wooden pillar at the end of the stage.

Sora groaned in pain as he hit the wooden pillar face first.

Michonne ran forward and thrust her katana at Sora's back, but the Japanese gambler spun around and parried the thrust with his own katana. Sora screamed in rage and slashed his katana right and left at Michonne as he moved forward. Michonne parried the blows, but Sora's attack forced her to move across the stage backwards. Her feet got tangled with Sora's black trench coat and she fell onto the stage.

"Michonne!" Carl screamed in horror as he leapt out of his chair.

Sora spun the katana in his hand and brought the sharp tip down at Michonne's chest, but she rolled onto her right side and the katana's tip was impaled on the stage.

Michonne scrambled to her feet while Sora struggled to free his sword. She shouted defiantly as she swung her katana at the Japanese gambler's head.

KLANG!

Sora had freed his katana in time and blocked the blow. He went on the attack again and forced Michonne back towards the narrow curtains on the sides of the stage that were called legs.

Sora raised his katana above his head and brought it down on Michonne, who leapt to her left.

SHRUPP!

Sora's katana cut a diagonal line through the middle of the leg, and the bottom piece of drapery fell to the stage.

Michonne went on the offensive: she slashed her katana at Sora, but he blocked it. Michonne continued her slashing attack, forcing Sora to move backwards across the stage as he parried her strikes.

Carl grinned like he had just seen his favorite baseball player hit a homerun. "Yeah, get him, Michonne!" he cheered while punching the air with his fists.

Michonne continued her attack until Sora stood his ground and the two of them locked their katanas together in another shoving match. After a few moments of struggling, Sora struck Michonne with his elbow, and she fell to the stage.

Carl gasped in shock.

Sora raised his katana above his head to deliver the killing blow, but Michonne did a leg sweep that took out the Japanese gambler's legs and he fell to the stage across from her.

"Get up, Michonne!" Carl shouted.

Michonne—tired from the fighting—sat up slowly. Sora got on his feet faster, and his foot stomped onto Michonne's right wrist. The swordswoman screamed in pain, and was forced to let go of her katana.

Carl's eyes widened in shock.

Sora bent down, grabbed Michonne by her dreadlocks, and pulled her to her feet. "You should have thought twice about arranging your hair in this fashion," he said, "it makes it so easy for the Oni—or an enemy—to grab hold of you."

Michonne punched Sora in the face, but the blow wasn't strong enough to make him let go of her hair or knock him down. Enraged, Sora twisted Michonne's dreadlocks around his hand and threw her across the stage; she fell onto Sora's tailored Italian jacket, black trench coat, and scratched scabbard.

"No!" Carl shouted.

"Silence, boy!" Sora ordered as he walked towards the fallen Michonne.

"If you touch her, I'll kill you!" Carl vowed.

"Americans," Sora spat as he shook his head, "always making promises they cannot keep."

Michonne sat up slowly with Sora's black trench coat on her head; she pulled the garment off, panted for breath, and looked up to see Sora standing over her.

"Thank you for the match, Michonne," Sora said. "I had almost forgotten how much I enjoyed Kendo."

Sora gripped his katana in both hands and raised it above his head and a moment later, brought it down on Michonne.

"Nooo!" Carl shouted as tears ran down his face.

WOK!

Carl wiped the tears from his eyes and saw Michonne was still alive, and was holding up Sora's scratched scabbard; she'd grabbed the World War II relic and used it to block Sora's killing blow.

Sora blinked in disbelief; he pulled on his katana's worn handle, but the blade was stuck on the scabbard like an axe on a log.

Michonne balled her left hand into a fist and punched Sora in the groin.

Sora howled in pain as he let go of his katana and grabbed his groin; he fell to the stage and curled up in pain.

Michonne dropped the scabbard, got to her feet, and mustered the strength to run across the stage to retrieve her katana.

Sora grabbed his scabbard, picked it up, and brought it down on the stage like a hammer; the scabbard split in half, freeing his katana.

"Hurry, Michonne!" Carl shouted.

Michonne slid on her knees across the stage, and came to a stop in front of her sword; her right hand wrapped around its handle.

On the other side of the stage, Sora wrapped his hand around the worn handle of his katana. He stood up, and turned towards Michonne.

"Behind you!" Carl shouted urgently.

Michonne stood up and faced Sora.

Carl watched wide-eyed as the two duelists prepared for their final match.

Sora held his katana over his shoulder, shouted a battle cry, and ran towards Michonne.

Michonne held her katana in both hands, and prepared to receive Sora's charge.

At the last moment Michonne stepped to her left and ducked. Sora's blade flashed over her head just as she swung her own blade at Sora's stomach.

SVASSH!

The blade of Michonne's katana sliced through Sora's stomach like it was a slab of beef. The Japanese gambler gasped in shock and fell to his knees; when he hit the stage, he slid a few yards, but when he came to a stop the pain from his mortal wound caught up to him.

Sora reluctantly looked down at his stomach, and saw his white dress shirt was quickly turning red. The fingers on his right hand uncurled around the worn handle of his katana, and the blade fell to the stage. Sora screamed painfully as his hands flew to the fatal wound across his stomach and he doubled over.

Behind Sora, Michonne stood up and shook the blood off her blade.

Watching from the auditorium, Carl's mouth dropped open.

Sora sat up and every time he took a labored breath, his intestines almost spilled out, but his blood soaked hands kept pushing them back inside.

Michonne walked over to the dying Sora and he raised his head slowly: his complexion had turned pale; drops of sweat were running down his forehead, blood was dripping out the corners of his mouth, and his eyes were full of tears and fear.

Michonne didn't say anything to Sora; he lost the duel and she'd told him she didn't want to hear any excuses as to why he lost. Michonne wrapped both hands around the handle of her katana, raised it above her head, and Sora lowered his head in defeat.

Michonne brought her katana down on the back of Sora's neck.

SHLUKK!

Michonne's katana sliced through Sora's neck and his decapitated head fell to the stage, bounced twice, and rolled around in a semi-circle; his upper body collapsed to the stage and a large pool of blood began to spread out from underneath him. Michonne shook the blood off her katana's blade and stepped over Sora's body.

"Michonne!" Carl cried.

Michonne looked up and saw Carl running towards the stage; he leapt up, grabbed the ledge, and climbed over it like it was part of an obstacle course in gym class. Carl stood atop the stage and ran towards Michonne, who dropped her katana and dropped to her knees as she opened her arms wide.

Carl threw his arms around Michonne's neck and hugged her tightly. "Thank you, Michonne! Thank you!" he cried as his tears ran down his face and onto her shoulder.

Michonne wrapped her arms around Carl and returned the hug, although not as tightly. "No problem, kid," she replied as she fought to hold back her own tears.

Michonne broke the hug, put her hands on Carl's shoulders and examined the boy: his hair was disheveled, he had a superficial cut under his chin, his left cheek was swelling; his eyes were tired and watery. "Are you alright?" she asked.

Carl looked down at himself and rubbed his hands together, it was like he was processing being kidnapped, assaulted, and threatened. "I'm okay. My face hurts, my arms hurt, and my head hurts, but I'm okay."

Michonne smiled supportively and her hand brushed through Carl's hair gently. "It's all over now," she said quietly.

Carl raised his head up and his eyes widened. "My dad! Is he okay?!"

Michonne blinked and looked up at the balcony staircase, and remembered Rick struggling with Harold on the lobby floor: 'Save Carl, Michonne! Save my son!' he pleaded. Michonne looked at Carl again and answered, "He's okay too."

Carl smiled and tears ran down his face again. "I knew he'd be okay. My dad survived getting shot and being in a coma when all this started. Did you know that?"

Michonne now thought about Andrea, and their nomadic winter last year. Andrea did most of the talking, and the first topic of conversation was her group. "Yeah, I know," she answered.

"My dad's tough," Carl said proudly.

"So are you," Michonne replied.

Carl blushed and lowered his head. "Thanks."

Michonne picked up her katana, stood up, and held out her hand. "Let's go," she said.

Carl looked up at Michonne, nodded, and took her hand. They walked past Sora's severed head and his corpse, and they walked down the stage's steps. They continued towards the front row of seats; Michonne leaned her katana against a chair, put on her hooded cape, picked up her scabbard, sheathed her katana, and slung the weapon over her back.

Carl turned around and glared at Sora's decapitated head. _You may be Japanese, but you're just like the Governor,_ Carl thought, _you promised your people that you'd protect them, but you stole from and blamed others for it. You threatened to kill my dad and my friends! You threatened to kill me too, and use my body to get into the prison. Would you have taken over the prison, and kill everyone one-by-one? Would you have killed my sister Judith? I bet you would've. I'm glad you're dead._

Michonne put a hand on Carl's shoulder and he looked up at her. She nodded and he returned it. They walked to their left, and at the end of the front row of seats they walked up the aisle to the top of the auditorium. In the middle of the island was a set of wooden doors; the main entrance. Michonne opened one door, and she and Carl walked out of the Moctezuma Theater, leaving on the stage the decapitated head of Sora Miyaguchi.

•••

Daryl, clad in his Navajo print poncho, and holding his Stryker Strykezone 380 crossbow tightly, continued to lie on his stomach in the middle of the parking lot. His plan to distract the herd by igniting a Humvee's gas tank had worked, and now he was hiding beside a Mercedes-Benz while the last of the herd staggered and bumped into the opposite side of the luxury car on their way to surround the burning wreck a few feet away.

Daryl had considered his options and decided it was better to wait for Rick, Carl, and Michonne to run out of the El Dorado before he got up and made a break for the other survivors lying down on the adjoining courtyard. If Daryl made his presence known to the herd, they'd forget all about the burning Humvee, and stagger back to the casino, and overrun the survivors.

 _If only Merle could see me now,_ Daryl thought. _He'd probably say, "There you go again, little brother, riskin' your ass for a bunch of pansy-asses, niggers, and Democrats."_

Daryl grinned. _I always hated when Merle was right._

There was a loud bump at the front of the Mercedes-Benz, and Daryl saw a foot clad in a torn sock step in front of him followed by a second foot wearing an Air Jordan sneaker. Daryl raised his head and saw a black walker wearing a baggy pair of jeans and an unbuttoned satin jacket, it had gold chains around its neck, and it wore a baseball cap on its head; in the middle of its T-shirt were two bullet wounds, revealing that it's death was not caused by a walker bite.

The black walker saw Daryl and it staggered back as if it were surprised to see a live human being, but it recovered and growled at him angrily.

 _Oh, fuck!_ Daryl thought.

Daryl raised his crossbow, took aim at the black walker, and pulled the trigger.

THUNK!

The arrow Daryl shot was loosed at such a close range that it tore through the black walker's forehead and exited out the back of its head. The bloody arrow continued on—weighed down somewhat by blood and bits of brain matter—and struck the windshield of a Toyota Avalon parked in the next row of cars. The black walker wobbled back and forth until it fell onto its back, dead.

The growling from the tail end of the herd stopped, and Daryl looked to his left nervously. A moment later there was a thud on the hood of the Mercedes-Benz, and a young Japanese walker with spiked hair, wearing jeans, a T-shirt with the Rising Sun of Japan printed on it, and a leather biker jacket appeared in view. The Japanese walker saw Daryl and growled angrily.

"Shit!" Daryl grumbled as he placed his hands on the parking lot and raised his upper body.

The Japanese walker growled again and leapt off the hood. Daryl rolled to his right, while the Japanese walker landed face first on the spot where Daryl had been lying. Daryl wound up on his back; he moved his crossbow to his left hand, tossed the hem of his poncho over his chest, and unsheathed his Busse Team Gemini knife. The Japanese walker started to push itself up from the ground, but Daryl plunged the tip of his knife into the back of the Japanese walker's head.

WHUKK!

The Japanese walker's upper body fell back onto the parking lot, dead.

Daryl pulled his knife out of the dead walker's skull, sat up, and looked at the Mercedes-Benz again: there were several walkers standing on the opposite side and looking down at him.

"Shit!" Daryl repeated.

The walkers growled and started to climb over the Mercedes-Benz to reach Daryl.

Daryl stood up, spun around, and ran towards the courtyard. A male walker with a broken right arm, and wearing a torn shirt, staggered out from the front of the Mercedes-Benz and blocked Daryl's path; it growled angrily.

Daryl twirled the knife in his hand so the bloody blade was forward and thrust it at the male walker.

SHUKK!

Daryl's knife cut through the side of the male walker's neck and severed the brain stem, killing the male walker just as effectively as destroying its brain. Daryl pulled his knife out of the dead male walker's neck and it fell beside the dead black walker. Daryl ran towards the courtyard with his poncho billowing behind him like a raccoon's tail on the antenna of a Hot Rod. The walkers that made up the tail end of the herd jumped off the Mercedes-Benz and staggered after Daryl.

•••

The Woodbury group and the El Dorado group were still lying down on the courtyard to avoid being seen by the herd, and waiting for Rick to run out of the El Dorado with his son and Michonne.

"Something's got those diablos mad," Alonso said as he rose up slightly to look at the herd surrounding the burning Humvee.

"Maybe the cavalry's arrived," Tyreese quipped as he looked to his right and his left.

"Does he count?" Karen asked as she pointed towards the burning Humvee.

Tyreese and the other survivors looked and saw Daryl, running towards them with his crossbow in one hand, and his knife in the other.

"Son of a bitch," John said with admiration as he sat up and watched Daryl running towards the survivors.

As Daryl stepped onto the courtyard, he saw Carl's battered Stetson hat and Beretta 92FS pistol on the ground. He knelt down, picked up the hat and pistol, stood up again, and ran over to the survivors.

"They ain't back yet?" Daryl asked he knelt down beside John.

"I'm afraid not," John answered.

Daryl grimaced, but said nothing. He put the weapons and Carl's Stetson on the ground and took inventory: he picked up Carl's pistol, found that Julia (who'd taken the pistol from Carl earlier) had kept the safety in the "on" position, and tucked it at the small of his back (beside his Colt Official Police revolver). He picked up his knife with his left hand, and pulled out his new cleaning rag (which he took from the El Dorado's tavern) from his back pocket, wiped the blade clean, and returned it to its sheath. He picked up his crossbow, stood up, and placed the crossbow's barrel on the ground; he slipped his foot through the crossbow's stirrup, pulled the string back until it was cocked, then he slipped his foot out of the stirrup, held the crossbow in his hands, took an arrow from the attached quiver, loaded it onto the flight groove, and flicked the safety to the "on" position.

"Did you blow up a damn truck?" John asked.

Daryl grunted the affirmative, and slung his crossbow over his shoulder.

John smiled. "Good thinking, son."

Daryl nodded his thanks and knelt down beside John again.

"We thought you were dead," Julia admitted with a smile.

Daryl remembered staggering back to the Greene farm, wounded and exhausted from his search for Carol's lost daughter Sophia. Andrea was on guard duty, mistook him for a walker and fired a shot that almost killed him. "I've heard that before," he smiled as his fingertips traced the grazing scar across his left temple.

"Excuse me, but can we all just get the fuck out of here?!" Sam shouted.

Daryl looked over his shoulder and glared at Sam. "Not without Rick and the others," he said coldly.

Sam's defiance evaporated under Daryl's glare and he looked down at the courtyard.

"We'll wait till hell freezes over, but our hosts don't have any transportation," John pointed out.

Daryl looked at John in disbelief. "Are you shittin' me?" he asked.

John shook his head.

Daryl looked at the Woodbury group and the El Dorado group. "Don't any of you know how to hotwire a damn car?"

The Woodbury group and the El Dorado group glanced at each other, looked back at Daryl, and mutterings of "No," "Nope," and "Unh-uh," drifted through the courtyard.

Daryl clenched his fist, and spat onto the courtyard in disgust.

Karen glanced to her right, her eyes widened and she sat up. "Biters!" she shouted while pointing.

Everyone looked to Karen's right, and saw the small group of walkers that had followed Daryl were now staggering towards them.

"Hold 'em back while I hotwire a car!" Daryl ordered as he stood up and ran along the courtyard.

"I heard Harold say he picked out a Dodge Grand Caravan," Alonso said as he stood up while clutching his M16A4 assault rifle in his hands.

"Why? Does it have a fuckin' moon roof?" Daryl quipped as he ran past his motorcycle and the vehicles from Rick's caravan.

Alonso ignored Daryl's question and caught up to him. "It's that way!" he shouted as he pointed at the forward portion of the parking lot.

"Wait for me!" Sam shouted.

Daryl looked over his shoulder and saw Sam running after him and Alonso; Sam had his Beretta 92FS pistol in his hand. Daryl grumbled and replied, "Vamos!"

Sam caught up to Daryl and Alonso, and the three men continued their run to the parking lot.

Karen sat up, raised her M4A1 rifle to her shoulder, and took aim on the lead walker staggering towards the survivors.

"Hold your fire!" John shouted.

Karen lowered her rifle and looked at John in disbelief.

"Those shots will just attract the herd; plus we have to conserve our ammo."

Karen lowered her rifle and looked at it with frustration. "Fuck!" she spat.

"If we can't shoot them, how are we going to kill them?" Amare asked worriedly.

"We'll have to take them hand-to-hand," John answered.

"You mean…knock them out?" Amare asked, holding his fists out like a boxer.

John put the palm of his left hand on his face and wiped it down in frustration. He looked at Amare and answered, "I mean grab a club, pick up a rock, and bash their fucking brains in!"

"Oh," Amare said in embarrassment as he put his hands back on the courtyard.

Karen put her M4A1 rifle down and unsheathed the hunting knife at her side. "Does anyone else have a knife?" she asked.

The remaining survivors lying on the courtyard patted themselves down and looked at Karen bashfully.

"Sorry," Amare said.

"Besides my 1911 pistol, my only weapon is my extensive vocabulary of strong language," John smiled.

"Well, that's not going to do us any good, John," Karen said.

"Fuck yeah, that shit won't help us," John grinned.

Tyreese put down his Mossberg 500 shotgun, stood up, and drew the framing hammer hanging at his side. "Time to get off the bench," he said.

The survivors watched as Tyreese walked passed them—hammer in hand—and towards the slowly approaching group of walkers.

"I've got your back!" Karen shouted as she stood up.

"No!" Tyreese shouted as he looked over his shoulder. "It's too dangerous."

"You're not going to stop me," Karen retorted as she ran towards the former NFL player.

Tyreese shook his head, but said nothing as he and Karen advanced on the walkers.

The lead walker wore a dress shirt (the collar was unbuttoned) and pants. A chunk of flesh was bitten out of his left arm and its grey tie was knotted around the upper part of the arm as a tourniquet.

Tyreese raised his framing hammer and brought it down on the businessman walker's head.

KRAK!

The framing hammer's head shattered the top of the businessman walker's skull and destroyed the brain, killing it instantly. The dead walker fell to its knees, and then it fell onto its right side.

A female walker in a torn red dress and with a rib bone sticking out of its left side growled at Karen, who thrust her knife at the female walker's face.

SVASSH!

The blade of Karen's knife plunged into the female walker's left eye and into its brain. The female walker's growl faded into a whisper, and when Karen pulled her knife free, it fell to the ground dead.

A young male walker wearing a T-shirt with the Batman symbol printed on it growled as it grasped wildly at Tyreese. The NFL player grabbed the young male by its neck, holding it at bay as he brought his framing hammer down on its head.

KRAK!

The blow destroyed the younger walker's brain just like it had the older one, and when Tyreese let go of the young walker's neck, it fell to the ground dead.

Tyreese looked down at the dead walker and shook his head with pity.

"Are you okay?" Karen asked worriedly.

Tyreese looked at Karen and answered, "This doesn't get any easier."

Karen looked at the rest of the small group of walkers staggering towards them. "I wish it would," she replied.

•••

Rick had been a sheriff's deputy in the small town of King County, GA. The one time he fired his service revolver in the line of duty was the same day he was shot and put in a coma. When Rick woke up in the hospital, the world he knew was gone, and the dead had taken over. He had seen horrifying and unimaginable sights, but he had never seen someone commit suicide. Rick had spent an undetermined amount of time staring at Harold's body siting on the sofa, with a bullet hole under his chin, the top of his head shot open, and his Glock 17 pistol clutched in his right hand.

 _He was_ _ **too far gone**_ , Rick thought. _He lost whatever_ _ **family**_ _he had when the dead started to walk, so he made the group in the El Dorado his_ _ **surrogate family**_ _. But when he thought he lost them…he couldn't keep going._

 _I have a group too. They look to me for safety, food, answers, leadership! They're not strangers anymore, they're my family. But I barely know them! Glenn saved my life in Atlanta, but all I know about him is that he was a pizza delivery boy! Daryl's been my right hand since we left the farm, but if the world hadn't gone to shit, I'd have probably arrested him for speeding on his motorcycle! Hershel's our doctor and my advisor, but he's really just a farmer; as for his daughters, I don't know what college Maggie went to, or what Beth's favorite song is. And Michonne…the only thing I know about her is her name._

 _Lori's death nearly pushed me into the darkness. If I didn't have my children—Carl and Judith—I…I wouldn't have been able to come back. I would've done what Harold did._

Rick sighed wearily and took a step towards the stone staircase when a flash of light caught his attention: it was the handcuff he locked onto Harold's right wrist during their fight.

 _I can't leave those handcuffs on him,_ Rick thought.

Rick holstered his Colt Python revolver, and walked over to Harold's body; the closer view of the exit wound atop Harold's head made Rick nauseous, but he dug into his back pocket, took out the handcuff key, and unlocked the handcuff from Harold's right wrist. Rick placed the handcuffs in their pouch on his gun belt, returned the key to his back pocket, and found the resolve to look at Harold's face one last time.

"I'm sorry this happened to you," Rick said to Harold's body.

Harold's dead eyes stared back at Rick.

"Dad!" Carl's voice shouted happily.

Rick turned to his left and a small body ran into him and wrapped its arms around his waist. "Carl?" he asked in disbelief.

Carl hugged his father tighter and started to cry.

Rick wrapped his arms around Carl and returned the hug. "Carl," he cried as the tears ran down his face.

Rick broke the hug, knelt down and examined Carl's injuries: there was a superficial cut under his chin, and his left cheek was swollen. "Are you all right?" he asked.

Carl sniffled, but nodded.

Rick remembered his glimpse of Sora pulling Carl up the stone staircase while he fought with Harold. "How did you get away from Sora?"

"Michonne saved me," Carl answered.

Rick looked up and saw Michonne standing in front of the vaulted doorway with her sheathed katana slung over her back. Rick stood up and walked over to the swordswoman. "What happened?" he asked.

"I killed the son of a bitch," Michonne answered.

Rick wiped a hand through his hair, and put his hands on his hips while various emotions ran through his mind: relief that Carl was alive, guilt at letting him go along on this supply run; regret at not killing Sora when he stepped out of that elevator, anger at not being able to rescue Carl, and gratitude to Michonne for being the one who did.

A minute later Rick looked at Michonne, and wrapped his arms around her. "Thank you," he said.

Michonne's eyes widened as Rick hugged her. Not knowing how to react, she could only say, "Your welcome."

Rick broke the hug with Michonne, walked over to Carl, and knelt down again so he could look his son in the eyes. "We're going home," he said.

Carl looked around the lobby. "Where are Daryl and the others?" he asked.

"They're outside holding the herd back, and we better get going before another one shows up," Rick answered.

Carl touched his hair and realized his battered Stetson hat was gone. "My hat!" he cried.

Rick smiled and patted Carl's shoulder. "It's outside too. I'll bet you Daryl's taking good care of it."

Michonne looked to her left at Harold's body sitting on the sofa, and saw he was holding onto a Glock 17 pistol; Michonne walked over to Harold's body, and carefully pried the pistol out his dead hand.

Rick stood up and drew his Colt Python revolver. "Stay close to me, Carl," he said.

Carl looked up at his father and nodded.

Rick looked at Michonne and asked, "Are you ready?"

Michonne pulled the Glock 17's slide back slightly to check if there was a bullet in the chamber, and when she released the slide, it snapped forward. Michonne looked at Rick and answered, "I'm ready."

Rick nodded and looked at the lobby's entrance. "Let's go," he said.

Rick, Carl, and Michonne ran along the lobby and down the vestibule's small steps; they then ran through the open door and onto the courtyard, where they saw Tyreese and Karen fighting a small group of walkers.


	23. Chapter 23

**CHAPTER 23**

Daryl, Alonso, and Sam ran onto the parking lot and did their best to avoid tripping over the piles of dead walkers strewn before them. In the left row of parked vehicles Daryl spotted a Dodge Grand Caravan behind a Mitsbushi Eclipse.

"Is that the one?" Daryl asked as his Navajo print poncho flew over his shoulder.

"Si! Si!" Alonso answered as he ran alongside Daryl's left.

Sam yelped as he tripped over a dead walker's body, but he regained his balance and continued running alongside Daryl's right.

The three men turned to their left and stopped alongside the driver's side of the Dodge Caravan. While they caught their breath, they looked at the burning Humvee and the herd surrounding it: the walkers were growling and grasping at the flames; the ones in front were pushed into the burning vehicle, while others staggered out of the crowd with their hands, arms, and—in some cases—their heads on fire. These burning walkers waved their burning limbs slowly, as if they were attempting to shake off the flames, but eventually they collapsed to the ground and the flames consumed their bodies.

"Madre de Dios," Alonso whispered as he made the Sign of the Cross.

"Mother Mary can't help those geeks; they've been dead for too long," Daryl quipped as he inspected the window to the drivers' side door, "ask her to help us instead."

"Can you hotwire this minivan?" Sam asked.

Daryl grunted an affirmative.

"But it's locked. How are you going to open—"

Daryl held his Stryker Strykezone 380 crossbow with both hands, took a step back, and used the butt of his weapon to smash the driver's side window.

CRAAASSHHH!

The window was smashed into hundreds of tiny shards that flew across the minivan's interior.

"Hey!" Sam shouted as he covered his eyes with his left arm to protect them from any glass shards that might fly in his direction.

The sound of the glass shattering frightened Alonso: he yelped as he leapt in the air, and spun around to see what had happened.

Daryl then used the crossbow's stock to knock away the pieces glass still clinging to the door's window frame.

Sam lowered his left arm from his eyes, and remembered last night when Daryl smashed one of the El Dorado's glass doors so the Prison group and Woodbury group could get inside. "What the…again?!" he shouted in disbelief.

A second later the car alarm blared.

BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!

"Oh, shit!" Sam shouted.

Daryl ignored Sam, and he reached inside the window frame, and unlocked the driver's side door.

"That alarm's going to attract the biters!" Sam shouted.

"Shut up," Daryl hissed at Sam before getting into the minivan.

Alonso ran over to the minivan's open driver's side door and looked at Daryl sitting in the driver's seat. "Can you turn that thing off?" he asked over the blaring car alarm.

Daryl nodded. "I'm workin' on it," he answered.

Alonso glanced at Sam and looked at Daryl, "So, what do you want us to do?"

"Cover me, Chef," Daryl quipped.

Alonso looked at the burning Humvee and saw that several walkers in the rear of the herd were now looking at the Dodge Grand Caravan. Alonso's complexion turned pale.

"You boys don't shoot unless you have to! Savvy?" Daryl ordered as he pointed at Alonso and Sam.

"Si," Alonso nodded.

Sam glared at Daryl and spat, "Yeah."

Alonso ran to the front of the Dodge Grand Caravan, brought his M16A4 assault rifle up to his shoulder and took aim at the herd. One walker staggered towards him, then another, and another, and another.

Daryl laid his crossbow across his lap, unsheathed his Busse Team Gemini knife, and used it to pry open the lid to the fuse box alongside the driver's side door. Daryl tossed his knife onto the passenger seat, and then he reached inside the fuse box, pulled out a wire, and disconnected it.

BEEP! BEEP! BEE—

The car alarm stopped. Daryl looked up at the windshield and saw the handful of walkers that heard the alarm were still staggering towards the minivan, but the rest of the herd still surrounded the burning Humvee.

Sam had stayed by the open driver's side door; he looked down at Daryl again and asked. "Can you really hotwire this thing?"

Daryl looked at the minivan's steering wheel and grunted an affirmative again.

Sam moved the safety on his Beretta 92FS pistol to the "off" position, and slipped his index finger around the pistol's trigger. "Good," he replied as he took aim at the unsuspecting Daryl.

•••

Rick, Carl, and Michonne had just run onto the courtyard when they came to a stop, and saw Tyreese and Karen fighting a group of walkers. Tyreese used his framing hammer to strike a muscular male walker clad only in sweatpants on its head, but the blow only made the male walker stagger back, so Tyreese struck it again and again until its head burst open and it fell to the courtyard dead. Karen stood her ground against a young male walker wearing a bloody T-shirt and torn jeans, and with a kitchen knife stuck in its chest. Karen grabbed the kitchen knife's handle to hold the young walker in place, and stabbed it in the forehead with her hunting knife. The young walker froze, and when Karen pulled her knife free, and let go of the kitchen knife, the young walker fell to the ground dead.

The rest of the small group of walkers continued staggering towards Tyreese and Karen.

Rick holstered his Colt Python revolver, looked down at Carl and said, "Stay here with Michonne."

Carl looked up at his father and blinked. "But…Dad…?"

Rick reached into his back pocket, took out his Gerber DMF Folder pocket knife, and flipped the blade out from its handle; Rick then ran to help Tyreese and Karen

"Dad, wait!" Carl pleaded as he started to run after him.

Michonne's hand gently, but firmly, grabbed Carl's shoulder and pulled him back. Carl looked up and saw Michonne shake her head. "Your dad's got this," she said.

"Tyreese!" Rick shouted.

Tyreese looked over his shoulder and smiled broadly. "Hey, Rick! Thank God!"

Karen looked over her shoulder too, and saw Rick running towards her and Tyreese; behind Rick she saw Carl and Michonne. "They're alive!" she shouted happily.

Rick came up to Tyreese's left side and confronted a male walker whose shirt had been shredded by a shotgun blast. Rick grabbed the male walker by the throat, and stabbed it in its left temple.

WHUKK!

The male walker died on its feet, and Rick and pushed it backward so it would knock down the skeletal walker behind it. Rick stepped over the walker he just killed, and looked down at the skeletal walker beneath it; the rotting corpse growled angrily at Rick, so he raised his right foot, and brought it down on the skeletal walker's skull, smashing it and destroying its brain.

Inspired by Rick's presence, Tyreese renewed his attack on the small group of walkers. Staggering in front of him now was a black male walker that had a piece of its left bicep bitten off. Tyreese swung his framing hammer, and connected with the black walker's jaw.

KRAK!

The framing hammer broke the black walker's jaw and knocking out four of its teeth. The black walker spun around, and when it faced Tyreese again, he brought his hammer down on the top of its head.

KRAK!

This time, the black walker fell to the ground dead.

A middle-aged female walker in a torn EMT uniform growled at Karen. She gripped her hunting knife tightly and thrust it at the EMT walker's face.

SVASSH!

The blade of Karen's knife went through the female EMT walker's left eye, and when she pulled the blade out, the dead walker fell to its knees, and then onto its left side.

The small group of walkers was now down to two; Rick and Tyreese killed them quickly and quietly.

"Dad!" Carl shouted happily.

Rick had just run his forearm across his forehead when he heard Carl's voice. He turned around and saw his son running towards him; Michonne was right behind him.

"Are you okay, Dad?" Carl asked.

Rick knelt down, tore the sleeve off a dead walker's shirt, and used it to wipe the blood and gore off his pocket knife. "I'm fine, son," he answered as he stood up.

Rick then looked at Tyreese and Karen. "Are you two all right?" he asked.

Tyreese held his bloody hammer as if he'd found a dead rat in his basement. "I'm cool," he muttered.

Karen had knelt down and was wiping the blood off her knife across the back of a dead walker. "I'm fine; winded but fine," she panted.

Michonne stood beside Rick, and looked around the courtyard, "Where's Daryl?" she asked.

Before Rick could reply to Michonne's question, a cheerful voice said, "Aren't you a sight for sore eyes."

Rick looked past Tyreese and Karen to see John, his fellow Woodburians and the El Dorado group sitting down on the courtyard like they were trying to hide. John was smiling and he held Carl's battered Stetson hat in his left hand.

Rick glanced at his small group waved his arm, and led them to the group sitting a few yards away.

"Good to see you too, John," Rick replied as he knelt down across from the Vietnam Veteran.

John snorted in amusement at Rick's jibe.

Carl and Michonne knelt alongside Rick, with Tyreese and Karen kneeling behind them. John looked sad when he saw the swelling on the boy's left cheek, but he smiled and offered him the Stetson hat. "You dropped this," he said.

"Thanks," Carl said as he took his father's old sheriff's deputy hat and placed it on his head.

Rick shot a glare at Juan that frightened the Latino handyman into looking at the ground.

 _I took your people into the prison after the Governor murdered the last of Woodbury's able-bodied men and women, and you repay me by telling that card shark that I'm just like that psychotic son of a bitch?_ Rick thought angrily. _If your wife wasn't alive and waiting for you, I'd leave your cowardly hide on this parking lot!_

Rick took a calming breath, looked at John again and said, "We heard an explosion a while ago."

"That was Dixon's doing," John answered as he pointed his thumb to his right, "blew a truck up to get the herd off our asses."

Rick stood up in the direction John pointed and saw the burning Humvee and the herd of walkers that surrounded it. Rick knelt down again, and thought about that incident minutes ago when Daryl shot Floyd before the retired postal worker could execute him. "That's the second time Daryl's saved my life today," he said.

John grunted in agreement. "Good man to have around."

"Where's Daryl now?" Michonne asked.

"Hotwiring a car; none of these hospitality experts know how to do that."

The El Dorado group lowered their heads in embarrassment.

"Where's my gun?" Carl asked.

John chuckled. "There's hope for America yet. Don't about your gun, kid: Daryl's got it."

From the parking lot, a panel of glass broke like a thunderclap.

CRAAASSHHH!

Rick and Michone stood up and saw Daryl, Sam, and Alonso standing alongside the Dodge Grand Caravan that Harold picked out for the El Dorado group this morning. A second later the sound of the car alarm rung across the parking lot.

BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!

Rick looked to the herd that surrounded the burning Humvee again and his eyes widened as one-by-one, the walkers in the rear turned around slowly and looked at the Dodge Caravan. Rick grabbed Michonne's arm and pulled her down to the courtyard again.

"Hey!" Michonne whispered in surprise.

Rick blushed and stared at the ground. "I'm sorry."

A small smile appeared on Michonne's face. "It's okay."

Rick looked at Michonne and smiled back.

"Hey, are you two on a date, or are you two going to get us out of here?" Amare asked angrily.

"Uh, yeah. Okay," Rick nodded.

"Do you want these folks to make a run for the car?" John asked as he nodded at the El Dorado group.

"With all those dead walkers out there? No," Rick answered. "Let Daryl hotwire it; I'm sure he'll drive the car to a spot nearby where these people can climb in."

"Are you serious?" Amare asked in disbelief. "What if that redneck just takes off and leaves us here?"

Rick glared at Amare and gestured at the Triumph Bonneville chopper parked nearby. "That bike belonged to Daryl's brother; he's not leaving that behind."

Amare unbuttoned the top button on his shirt and looked down at the ground meakly. "Okay, man. Okay," he replied.

•••

"What are you going to do, Dixon? Wave your hands in front of the steering wheel and say 'Abracadabra'?" Sam asked angrily.

"I don't know, how about this?" Daryl quipped as he gave Sam the Finger.

 _Very funny, asshole. I've got a joke for you: I'm going to blow your fucking brains all over the dashboard!_ Sam thought angrily. _You killed my friend, Floyd. Now I'm going to kill you._

"They're coming!" Alonso cried nervously from the front of the Dodge Grand Caravan.

Daryl looked out the windshield again and to check the walkers' progress; they were indeed getting closer, but not close enough for him to panic.

"Don't shoot unless you have to!" Daryl reminded Alonso.

"Si," Alonso said nervously.

Sam glanced at the walkers staggering towards him, and went back to aiming his pistol at the back of Daryl's head. _Get this fucking car running, you dirty son of a bitch!_ He thought nervously.

Daryl slid his right hand across the bottom of the minivan's dashboard until he found the lid to the steering wheel's fuse box. He leaned forward, but was stopped by an object; he then realized that his crossbow was still on his lap. Daryl looked to the passenger seat on his right, and then he looked at the open driver's side door on his left.

 _Do I throw my crossbow on the passenger seat, or do I throw it out the door?_ He thought.

Suddenly, out of the corner of his left eye, Daryl saw Sam standing outside the minivan.

Daryl picked up his crossbow with his left hand and held the weapon outside the minivan. "Take it," he ordered as he looked out the windshield at the approaching walkers.

Sam lowered his gun slightly and looked at Daryl's crossbow; his mouth dropped open. "What?" he asked.

"Take it!" Daryl shouted with a shake of his crossbow for emphasis.

Sam looked back and forth at the gun in his right hand and his empty left hand. _Shit! What am I going to do?_ He thought.

Sam moved the front of his jacket aside and stuck his gun in the front of his waist belt.

BLAM!

The gunshot was louder than the car alarm; a second later Sam's blood curdling scream was louder than that.

Daryl looked to his left and saw that a blood stain was spreading quickly across Sam's crotch. Daryl shut his eyes and winced. "Fuck!" he shouted.

Alonso spun around and looked at the screaming, wounded Sam. When the chef realized where the wound was on Sam's body, he felt this morning's breakfast rush up his throat and he puked onto the parking lot.

Sam's scream ended and he dropped his pistol, covered his wound with both hands, and fell to his knees. Blood seeped through his fingers, and when he bowed his head his slouch hat fell onto the puddle of blood that had run down his pants.

Sam started hyperventilating; he raised his head to the sky and screamed, "I shot my dick off!"

The herd that surrounded the burning Humvee turned around in unison at the sound of Sam's voice.

Inside the minivan, Daryl tossed his crossbow onto the passenger seat, picked up his Team Gemini Busse knife and slid into the driver's footwell where he began to pry open the steering wheel's fuse box. Outside the minivan, Alonso dropped his M16A4 assault rifle, and ran towards the wounded Sam.

"Jesus H. Christ, it hurts so fucking bad!" Sam screamed, as blood continued seeping through his fingers.

"Shut him up, Goddammit!" Daryl shouted at Alonso as he pried the lid to the fuse box open.

Alonso knelt beside Sam and put his arms around him. "Calm down, amigo," he pleaded.

Sam stopped crying, and a moment later he lost consciousness. Alonso stood up, grabbed Sam by the shoulders, and started to drag the wounded man past the Dodge Grand Caravan.

•••

From the courtyard, Rick and Michonne stood up briefly to catch a glimpse of the walkers at the back of the herd staggering towards the sound of the car alarm.

"That car alarm's got the attention of some of the walkers," Michonne said as she and Rick knelt down again.

"Oh, God," Julia cried fearfully as she clasped her hands together.

"I hope Daryl knows his shit," Tyreese said.

BEEP! BEEP! BEE—!

The car alarm stopped.

Karen looked up at Tyreese. "I think he does," she smiled.

"Yeah, but if Dixon gets that car running, what are we going to do then?" Amare asked.

Rick looked from the vehicles his group and john's group parked on the courtyard last night, to the survivors standing around him. "Everyone, get in the trucks!" he ordered.

The survivors looked at Rick in disbelief.

"You're going to leave Dixon and the others behind?" John asked angrily.

Juan pointed a finger at Rick. "Do you see?" he asked the survivors. "Is this the man you want to lead all of you?!"

Rick glared at Juan. _This isn't the time or the place to start an argument, Juan,_ he thought angrily.

"Juan," Michonne said sternly.

"Ci?" Juan asked.

"Shut up," Michonne ordered.

Juan's defiance evaporated under Michonne's glare and he looked down at the ground. Rick looked at Michonne and nodded his thanks for her defending him.

"Dad, we can't leave Daryl behind," Carl pleaded.

"We're not, Carl, but we've got to stay one step ahead of that herd!" Rick explained.

Rick dug into his front pocket and took out the keys to the Dodge Ram 1500 truck. "Michonne, take Carl and get him into the truck!"

Michonne nodded and extended her left hand. Rick gave Michonne the car keys and she closed her hand around them tightly.

"John, get your people and the casino people in your car and the box truck. It'll be a tight fit, but we've got to get on the road now!"

"What about you?" John asked.

Rick drew his Colt Python revolver. "I'm going to help Daryl."

Carl shook his head. "No, Dad! You can't—"

BLAM!

The gunshot made the survivors jump to their feet and look at the parking lot.

A moment later a hi-pitched scream cut above the gunshot's echo that made everyone shiver.

"Who was that?" Julia asked.

"It's Sam," Juan answered worriedly.

A moment later, the survivors heard Sam scream, "I shot my dick off!"

The survivors glanced at each other in confusion.

"Did he say what I think he said?" Tyreese asked in disbelief.

"He did," Rick answered with a nod.

"Damn!" Amare cried loudly as he grimaced with imaginary pain.

Rick looked at the herd that surrounded the Humvee, and his expression turned pale as he watched the entire herd turned in unison of the direction of Sam's screaming.

Rick took a few steps forward and raised his arms to get the survivors' attention. "All right: get into the trucks, and head for the highway!"

"I'm not leaving you, Dad!" Carl cried.

"And I'm not leaving Sam!" John shouted defiantly.

"I'm not leaving Sam either," Juan added.

"Hey, Alonso's my boy. I'm not leaving him to be some geek's breakfast!" Amare said.

Juan glared at Rick, only this time his gaze held fire in it. "You're leaving your friend and our friends to be killed by those demons!"

Rick took a breath and lowered his hands slightly. "We're **not** leaving them; we're getting **a step ahead** of those walkers," Rick explained, "when you get on the highway wait for me and the others."

"No, I won't let Sam die!" Juan shouted as he ran into the parking lot with his Remington 870 shotgun in his hands.

"Come back, Juan!" Rick ordered.

The Latino handyman ignored Rick and stepped over the piles of dead walkers and ran towards the sound of Sam's screams.

John thumbed the hammer back on his Colt M1911A1 pistol. "He's right! Come on!" the Vietnam veteran shouted.

John ran forward, but Rick grabbed onto his left arm.

"Stop!" Rick ordered.

John glared at Rick. "Are you crazy or are you a coward?" he spat.

Rick glared back at John and thought: _I've got a question for you John: are you a fool? When you arrived at the prison you started throwing insults and accusations at me. And just when I thought we were back on the same page, you want to start with all that shit again. Thank you for your service, but you never fought a war like this one, so shut up and let me get all of us out of here!_

Despite his anger, Rick took a deep breath, exhaled, and spoke to John calmly. "John, I know Sam's hurt, and I know Sam's your friend, but from all these casings on the ground I'd say everybody fired most of their ammo, and what you've got left we'll need for the ride back to the prison.

And don't forget, John, that you've got the keys to the Silverado. Stay here with the truck: If we have to abandon the car Daryl hotwired, we'll run to you! If we don't have any trouble, we'll drive to the exit ramp and you'll follow us."

John considered Rick's statement for a few moments, and then he nodded in agreement and holstered his pistol.

Rick patted John on his shoulder and then he turned around to look at the other survivors: Carl and Michonne, Tyreese, Karen, and Julia.

"Julia, Amare, you two better stick with Carl and Michonne."

Julia trembled with fear despite the Ithaca 37 "Stakeout" shotgun in her hands, but she nodded in understanding of Rick's order. Amare nodded too and dropped his empty AR-15 rifle.

"I know you're all scared, but if all of you keep a clear head, we'll all make it back to the prison," Rick said confidently.

The survivors glanced at each other nervously, while Michonne kept her eyes on Rick.

"Remember: wait for us on the highway. Let's go," Rick ordered.

Karen nodded and holding her M4A1 rifle in her hands, ran towards the bread truck. Tyreese followed her with his framing hammer at his side, and his Mossberg 500 shotgun in his right hand.

John ran to the Chevy Silverado, took the keys out of his pocket, unlocked the driver's side door, and climbed inside.

Michonne had her left hand on Carl's shoulder, which comforted the boy, and prevented him from following his father. "Be careful, Rick," she pleaded.

Rick nodded to Michonne. Then he looked at his son, who had tears running down his face. "Everything's going to be okay, Carl," he promised.

Carl was too upset to speak, so he nodded instead.

Rick turned around, and ran onto the parking lot and stepped over the piles of dead walkers. Michonne and Carl watched Rick for a moment before the swordswoman gently pushed the boy towards the Dodge Ram 1500 truck.

Amare started following Michonne and Carl when he stopped and looked over his shoulder to see Julia, trembling.

"Come on, Julia!" Amare shouted at the frightened cocktail waitress.

Julia snapped out of her fear and ran to catch up with Michonne, Carl, and Amare.


	24. Chapter 24

**CHAPTER 24**

Daryl sat in the driver's footwell of the Dodge Grand Caravan, scrapping off the insulation from the wires with his Busse Team Gemini knife. "How close are the walkers now?" he asked Alonso.

No answer.

Daryl looked out the open driver's side door and saw a blood trail leading from the Dodge Grand Caravan to the Mitsubishi Eclipse parked behind it. He leaned his head out the doorway and saw Alonso dragging Sam around the back of the Mitsubishi.

"What the fuck are you doin'?!" Daryl shouted.

"I'm trying to help this man!" Alonso answered.

"Are you Chef or House, M.D.?"

"I won't let him die!"

Daryl ducked back into the minivan and sat in the driver's seat and scrapped the rest of the insulation off the wires. _The poor bastard's goin' to wish he was dead,_ he thought.

Daryl sheathed his knife, looked out the windshield again and saw the small group of walkers now staggering across the next row of cars; the rest of the herd was started growling and staggered forward.

 _Fuck!_ Daryl thought as he twisted the bare wires together. _I've got at least a buck fifty before those walkers are on my ass._

Alonso laid Sam down behind the Mitsubishi Eclipse, and the wounded man flinched and opened his eyes. Alonso sat down and put the wounded man's head in his lap. "It's okay, amigo. It's okay," he promised.

"I…I can't believe…what I just did," Sam stammered weakly.

Alonso said nothing and held onto Sam like a lost child holds their stuffed animal.

"Hey, do…me a favor, okay?" Sam asked.

"Ci?"

Sam stared up at Alonso; his complexion began to turn pale. "Kill me," he whispered.

Alonso shook his head. "No. That's a sin."

"What? Are you…afraid…of…God's Judgement? I think…God's judged all of us…a while ago."

Tears began to well in Alonso's eyes, and then he heard a voice shout, "Sam!"

Alonso looked up and saw Juan running towards him and Sam, with a shotgun in his hand.

Juan slid along the courtyard and came to a stop alongside Sam and Alonso. When Juan saw his friend's wound, he shut his eyes and grimaced with imaginary pain like Amare did earlier.

"What…what happened?" Juan asked.

"I…shot…" Sam stammered before his voice faded away.

"It was an accident," Alonso explained as the tears ran down his face.

Juan opened his eyes and looked at Alonso. "Did you see it?" he asked.

"No. I was standing in front of him and "Blam!" I heard the gunshot," Amare answered.

"I'm dying," Sam said weakly.

Juan looked down at Sam and touched his shoulder. "No you're not, amigo. We'll get you back to the prison; Hershel will patch you up. I promise."

Sam looked up at Juan and managed to smile in agreement.

An engine rumbled to life suddenly; Juan and Alonso looked to their right to see Daryl lean his head out the Dodge Caravan's open door.

"You boys sit tight! Savvy?" Daryl ordered.

The driver's side door slammed shut, and a second later, the minivan peeled out of the row.

Juan leapt to his feet. "Hey!" he shouted.

The minivan then made a right turn down the parking lot, leaving Juan, Alonso, and the wounded Sam a clear view of the oncoming herd of walkers.

"He's leaving us here!" Juan cried in disbelief.

"No, he's not!" a voice shouted.

Juan looked to his left and saw Rick running towards him with his Colt Python revolver in his hand.

•••

Michonne stepped onto the Dodge Ram 1500's foot rail, unlocked the driver's side door, opened it, and pressed the button on the keypad to unlock the other doors. "Get in!" she shouted to Carl, Julia, and Amare.

Carl, Julia, and Amare ran around the pickup truck; Carl opened the passenger's side door, climbed in, and shut the door. Amare opened the rear passenger door, stepped aside so Julia could climb in, then he stepped inside and shut the door.

Michonne leaned inside the truck, placed the Glock 17 pistol on the dashboard; then she stood outside the truck again, unslung her katana, and slid it into the back seat. Michonne then sat in the driver's seat and closed the driver's side door.

Carl looked around the truck's interior and saw his father's M4A1 rifle was still behind the driver's seat (Rick had put it there before they loaded the supplies into the truck bed). There was a tote bag with the El Dorado logo printed on it laying on the passenger's footwell. Carl picked up the tote bag, opened it, and found his father's Glock 19 pistol along with its detached Maglite suppressor and his own aluminum baseball bat suppressor.

Carl reached into the satchel and took out the Glock 19 pistol. _I can use this gun to help Dad,_ he thought, _I can get out of this truck and go help him and Daryl._

"Stay in the truck, Carl," Michonne ordered as she buckled her seat belt.

Carl looked at Michonne, who was now putting the keys in the ignition. He dropped the pistol back into the satchel, and buckled his seat belt.

"Are you okay, Julia?" Michonne asked as she looked over her shoulder.

The cocktail waitress wiped tears away from her face but she nodded.

"Then put the shotgun down and buckle up."

Julia nodded again, and she put the shotgun down in the footwell beside Michonne's sheathed katana and Rick's M4A1 rifle; she then buckled her seat belt.

Michonne stepped on the brake, turned the key and the engine rumbled to life. "Hold on," she ordered her passengers. A moment later Michonne put the truck in drive, and drove slowly along the courtyard.

Behind the Dodge Ram 1500, Tyreese and Karen climbed into the bread truck. A moment later the engine started and the bread truck followed the pickup truck.

Inside the Chevy Silverado, John watched as Michonne lead Tyreese and Karen through the parking lot, and then he looked at Rick talking to Juan. "Good luck to you both," he said.

Michonne turned to the left and drove off the courtyard and onto the parking lot. She spotted a lane that was clear of abandoned cars or bodies and took a second left. A minute later the Michonne and Carl drove up the exit ramp, with Tyreese and Karen a few feet behind them in the bread truck. Michonne looked out the driver's side window and saw Rick talking to Juan as the Daryl in the Dodge Grand Caravan sped around the parking row and up to the two men while the herd of walkers staggered ever closer to them.

•••

Juan looked at Rick running towards him and then he looked down at his Remington 870 shotgun lying on the ground beside Sam; his hands started to sweat. _So is this how it'll end?_ Juan thought. _Rick's going to shoot me and the chef, but leave Sam alive as bait for the demons while he and Dixon make their escape._

Rick slowed down as he approached Juan, and when he looked down at Sam, and saw that Sam had indeed shot himself in the groin, Rick shut his eyes and turned his head in the other direction.

"You're a cop. You've must've seen plenty of gunshots. Is he going to live?" Alonso asked.

Rick looked down at Alonso and saw the concern in the chef's eyes. "I think so," he answered quickly.

Alonso smiled and gave Sam an encouraging hug. Sam moaned like a drunk sleeping off a bender. Rick looked to his left: a handful of walkers were staggering ahead of the rest of the herd, and were getting dangerously close.

Rick knelt down and shook Alonso's shoulder. "We need to apply a tourniquet on Sam before he bleeds to death. Take your belt and tie it around his waist."

Alonso nodded; he stood up, unbuckled his U.S. Army web belt and let it fall to the ground, he then unbuckled his waist belt, slipped it around Sam's waist, and cinched it tightly.

"Where's John?" Juan asked as he looked at courtyard.

"In the Chevy," Rick answered as he pointed his thumb over his shoulder. "If things go badly, we go to him."

"When have things ever been good?"

Rick stood up, glared at Juan but said nothing.

"What about Harold?" Alonso asked as he sat down and put Sam's head in his lap again.

Rick thought about Harold: quiet and strong; a man who saw the El Dorado group as family and worked hard to protect them; he thought he had just lost them all and it broke him, so he took his pistol and "opted out", as Dr. Edwin Jenner would've put it. Rick looked down at Alonso again. "I'm sorry," he said.

A tear ran down Alonso's face and that tear turned into a flood, and a moment later the chef of the El Dorado sat crying on the parking lot for his dead friend while he held a wounded stranger in his arms.

"How did he die?" Juan asked accusingly. "Did that gambler kill him? Or was it a demon, or was it you?"

"Do you want details at a time like this?" he quipped.

The sounds of engines starting up made Rick look behind him. He saw Michonne and Carl driving across the courtyard in the Dodge Ram 1500, a moment later Tyreese and Karen followed them in the bread truck.

"Hey! Where the hell are they going?" Juan asked as he pointed at the two vehicles.

"It's all right," Rick said reassuringly, "they'll meet us on the—"

"They're leaving us too?!" Juan asked as his voice grew louder and angrier.

Rick's patience finally reached its limit; he grabbed Juan by the shirt collar and pulled the handyman towards him. "Nobody is getting left behind!" he spat into Juan's face. "Michonne's taking the others to the highway because the herd is marching back here!"

Just then, the sound of a vehicle making a sharp turn up made Rick look over Juan's shoulder: it was Daryl, in the Dodge Grand Caravan, speeding towards them.

The Dodge Grand Caravan screeched to a stop and a second later the driver's side door opened and Daryl jumped out with his Stryker Strikezone 380 crossbow in hand.

Rick nodded at Daryl, and Daryl nodded back. Rick then glared at Juan and shoved him backwards. "Don't bother to say you're sorry," he grumbled.

Juan looked at Rick frightfully as he smoothed down his rumpled shirt with the palms of his hands.

Daryl ran past Juan and stood beside Rick. "Carl?" he asked hopefully.

Rick raised his left hand to signal a pause. "He was roughed up, but he's fine. He and Michonne are in the truck."

"And the Jap?"

"Michonne took care of him."

"Good," Daryl said as he nodded with satisfaction.

Juan looked to his right and saw the small group of walkers staggering forward with the herd a few feet behind them. "The demons!" he shouted fearfully as he pointed at the approaching corpses.

Rick took a few steps until he stood in the spot the Dodge Grand Caravan once occupied and aimed his service revolver at the herd. "Get Sam into the minivan now!" he ordered.

"It's unlocked. Vamos!" Daryl shouted as he ran to Rick's right side. The redneck moved his crossbow to his left hand, and he reached behind the small of his back with his right hand, drew his Colt Official Police revolver, and aimed it at the walkers.

Alonso gently moved Sam's head off his lap and then took the wounded man in his arm. "Open the door!" he shouted.

Juan ran to the Dodge Grand Caravan, and slid open the rear passenger door. Alonso stood up with Sam in his arms and rushed towards the minivan while droplets of blood fell to the ground.

Rick aimed at a male walker that was bald and naked except for the skull and dagger tattoo on its chest.

BLAM!

The .357 caliber bullet struck the naked male walker's forehead and exited the back of its head; blood along with pieces of skull and brain matter, sprayed the faces of the walkers that were around it. The male walker fell to the ground dead, but the others continued to stagger forward.

Daryl aimed at a skeletal walker that wore a dirty business suit.

BLAM!

The .38 Special bullet struck the skeletal walker in the forehead, and as it fell forward, its right eye fell out of its socket and was squished when the walker's skull hit the ground.

Alonso climbed inside the minivan and laid Sam across the rear folding seats. He looked over his shoulder at Juan and shouted, "Get in!"

Juan looked to his right at his Remington 870 shotgun lying in front of the minivan, and then he turned around and looked at Alonso's U.S. Army web belt with the Beretta M9 pistol inside its holster. "Just a second!" he shouted.

Juan ignored his shotgun and ran over to Alonso's U.S. Army web belt; he scooped it up into his arms and ran back to the minivan.

Rick took aim at a black male walker whose face was splattered with the blood and brain matter from the naked male walker Rick had shot moments ago.

BLAM!

The bullet struck the black male walker in the forehead and exited the back of its head; splattering more blood and brain matter onto the faces of the other walker, while the black itself fell backwards and landed on the ground, dead.

Daryl took aim at a young male walker who had a dozen small, long cuts on its face like it ran through a plate glass window.

BLAM!

The bullet struck the young male walker in its forehead; it fell forward and its head split open like an egg when it struck the front bumper of the Toyota Corolla parked beside the empty spot where Daryl and Rick stood.

"Daryl!" Rick shouted as he looked at his lieutenant.

Daryl looked at Rick.

"Get on your bike! We're getting out of here!"

Daryl nodded and ran towards the courtyard. Rick holstered his Colt Python revolver and ran towards the Dodge Grand Caravan, where Juan, Alonso, and Sam were waiting inside.

"Where's Rick?" Alonso asked as he slid the rear passenger door closed.

"Right there," Juan answered with a nod.

Rick ran around the front of the Dodge Grand Caravan, opened the driver's side door, climbed inside, and shut the door. He gave Juan an angry glare, and the Latino handyman clutched the holstered gun to his chest tightly.

"How's Sam doing?" Rick asked as he looked over his shoulder.

Alonso sat in the passenger seat on the left side and answered, "Not so good."

"Watch him. If he dies we'll have to put him down."

"No!" Juan shouted.

"Shut up!" Rick ordered.

Juan kept quiet, and he looked down at the holstered pistol in his hands. Rick put the Dodge Grand Caravan in reverse, stepped on the gas pedal, and looked over his shoulder as he sped the minivan away from the herd.

•••

Daryl reached the piles of dead walkers he and the other survivors had shot down earlier, and for the second time did his best to run across them without twisting an ankle.

John, sitting in the driver's seat of the Dodge Silverado, saw Daryl running across the piles of dead walkers; he lowered the driver's side window, leaned his head out and put his hand alongside his mouth. "Is Sam still alive?!" he asked.

"I don't know!" Daryl answered as he leaped off the last pile of dead walkers and landed on the courtyard.

John grumbled angrily, and then he sat back into the driver's seat, and rolled the window up.

Daryl ran over to his Triumph Bonneville chopper motorcycle; he holstered his revolver (he'd left the gun belt wrapped around the motorcycle's handlebars) and slung his crossbow over his back. Daryl mounted his motorcycle, put the key in the ignition and turned it; the engine roared to life. Daryl swiped the kickstand up with his foot, revved up the bike, and he rode it across the courtyard and onto the parking lot.

Inside the Dodge Silverado, John put the pickup truck in drive, and followed Daryl.

Once Daryl rode onto the parking lot, he quickly saw a clear lane on his left, so he made the turn and rode towards the exit ramp. Rick and the others in the Dodge Grand Caravan reached the exit ramp before Daryl did, and with John bringing up the rear, the sheriff's deputy led them up to the highway while the herd staggered after the speeding vehicles.

•••

Michonne stopped the Dodge Ram 1500 on the highway and put the pickup truck in park. She looked out the driver's side window at the Aztec pyramid that was the El Dorado, looking majestic and new in the mid-day sun. She thought about Rick going over his plan with their skeptical group: "I thought we could spend the night at the casino and return to the prison in the morning," he said.

"A lot can happen in forty-eight hours," Hershel replied.

"I know what can happen here: all of us starving to death," Michonne retorted.

Michonne shut her eyes and put her thumb and forefinger to the bridge of her nose; she sighed wearily. _I hope you don't say 'I told you so' Hershel,_ she thought.

Julia sat in the left rear passenger seat, her head bowed and her hands gripping the upholstery. Amare sat to her right and looked at her nervously. "Julia? Are you okay?" he asked.

Julia raised her head and looked at Amare. "Yeah," she nodded. "Yeah, I think so."

"Look!" Carl shouted happily.

Michonne opened her eyes and saw the Dodge Grand Caravan speeding towards the exit ramp. "Thank God," she said.

Carl opened the passenger door and leapt out of the pickup truck; a moment later Amare and Julia opened the rear passenger doors and climbed out too. Michonne picked up the Glock 17 pistol from the dashboard, opened the driver's side door, climbed out, and followed the three of them to the rear of the pickup truck.

Tyreese stopped the bread truck and parked a few feet behind the Dodge Ram 1500. He climbed out of the driver's side and Karen climbed out of the passenger side; only Karen climbed out with her M4A1 rifle in hand.

"Did you guys see Rick?" Tyreese asked as he pointed down at the parking lot.

"We did!" Carl answered enthusiastically.

"Daryl and John are right behind him," Michonne replied as she watched the redneck on his motorcycle, and the Vietnam Veteran in the Dodge Silverado, driving through the parking lot.

"Let's not trade war stories when they all get up here," Karen said as she looked over the deserted highway, "I don't want another herd or another group of backstabbers to get the drop on us."

"Excuse me?" Amare asked with an offended tone.

"No, there's no excuse for you assholes!" Karen spat. "Rick was going to bring all of you to the prison but you drew your guns on us!"

"Listen, we were told—"

"And that shogun you called a boss not only tried to cut Rick's head off, he kidnapped Rick's son!"

"Hey! Amare, Alonso, and me had nothing to do with that!" Julia shouted angrily as she pointed at Karen.

"Damn right!" Amare added. "And do you remember that story your boy Juan spilled about "the Governor" before all that shit went down? Well, it was the same story he told Harold! You guys lived with him in that town called Woodbury. We're you ever going to tell us that you had a lunatic for a boss, too?"

Karen's eyes widened and her mouth dropped open. She thought back to when she was a member of the Governor's army.

•••

When Michonne had snuck back into Woodbury with the prison group, she stabbed out the Governor's right eye, and they had killed few members of the security team, and then they all left with the security team's leader, Merle Dixon. The fear in Woodbury was thick as a fog, but Andrea (who was a former member of the prison group) arranged a parley between the Governor and the prison group's leader, Rick Grimes. When the Governor returned, he said a deal for peace had been made: Michonne. The next day Governor left with the security team and promised when he returned there'd be peace and Michonne would stand trial for the deaths she caused.

The Governor returned a couple of hours later, but without Michonne and without most of the security team. He said the deal had been an ambush, and most of the security team was killed.

After that, the fear in Woodbury turned into anger. The next morning the Governor led his army in an attack on the prison.

"Remember they killed eight men back there! Five here last time!" The Governor shouted.  
"They're no different from the biters. And they're not going to stop until they kill us all! Taken everything we worked so hard for! We're going to end this, once and for all!"

They met no resistance and entered Cell Block C, but the prison group was inside, hiding. They used flash bang grenades, the prison alarms, and the biters within the Cell Block C itself, to frighten the Governor's soldiers; many of whom dropped their weapons and ran outside onto the courtyard.

"Get the hell out of here!" a voice ordered from somewhere.

BRAKKA! BRAKKA! BRAKKA!

Bullets seemed to fly in all directions and chewed up the pavement beneath the army's feet; any chance the Governor had of rallying them was lost and they ran down the hill, got into their vehicles, and sped off.

Several minutes later, the Governor and his lieutenants Martinez and Shumpert, sped up to them in his Dodge Ram 1500, his horn blaring.

"Pull over! Hey! Pull this truck over!" The Governor ordered as he leaned out the passenger window.

Shumpert sped ahead and used the truck to block the road, bringing the caravan to a halt.

"What the hell are you doing?" The Governor shouted as he marched towards the caravan with his Steyr AUG A1 assault rifle in his hand, "We need to dig in!"

"It's not worth it!" Paul protested.

"That was a slaughter!" Karen retorted.

The Governor, his lieutenant Martinez, and the new guy Allen (Shumpert never was much of a talker) argued with the soldiers, all of whom had reached their limits with the Governor's orders.

"We are not soldiers," Karen said. "Want us to kill biters? Of course! This is crazy. We're going home!"

The Governor raised his assault rifle and took aim on his own army.

BRAKKA! BRAKKA! BRAKKA!

Bullets tore into Paul and the others up front and they fell dead onto the side of the road. Karen was amongst the survivors who screamed in horror and ran into the field in a desperate attempt to escape.

BRAKKA! BRAKKA! BRAKKA!

The Governor continued firing into his fleeing army. Several bullets struck the man running behind Karen and as he fell forward, he knocked her to the ground and fell on top of her.

The echo of the gunfire drifted over the field and Karen lay still with the dead man's body on top of her.

BLAM!

The gunshot wasn't as loud as the earlier ones. _Maybe he's switched to his pistol,_ Karen thought. _That means…Oh, God…_

A minute later Karen heard footsteps walking through the tall grass, followed by another gunshot.

BLAM!

Karen's fear was true: the Governor was walking through the field and killing the wounded. She shut her eyes, held her breath, and remained still.

BLAM!

A third gunshot and this time Karen realized just how close the Governor was to her.

BLAM!

A fourth gun shot, this time to Karen's right. _Oh, God, please help me,_ she thought worriedly.

The Governor's footsteps started again, but he was walking away from Karen. A minute later she heard an engine start up and the sound of a vehicle speeding away. Karen opened her eyes and took quick breaths, but despite the silence, she decided to remain still in case the Governor returned. Then a low growl brushed past her left ear.

The dead man on her back was starting to turn.

Karen screamed in horror as she leapt to her feet, and the dead man fell off her. She ran back to the army transport truck and caught a glimpse of another corpse starting to turn. Karen climbed into the driver's seat and shut the door, but was horrified to find the keys weren't in the ignition (the driver had probably removed them out of habit). The two corpses were now on their feet and staggering towards the army transport truck. Karen screamed again, locked the doors and hid below in the footwell. The sounds of more corpses turning into walkers drifted into Karen's ears, so she covered her ears with her hands tightly.

 _Please help me, God. Please help me,_ Karen thought as she cried.

Minutes later, Michonne, Rick Grimes, and Merle's younger brother Daryl drove up, put the walkers down, and rescued Karen; then they told her what she already knew: the Governor was a liar, a manipulator, a murderer, and a lunatic.

•••

Karen snapped out of that vivid memory and looked at Amare and Julia, both of whom were glaring at her.

"That's bullshit!" Karen shouted. "Rick Grimes saved my life! If Rick were like the Governor, he'd have killed me the second he saw me, and Michonne and Daryl wouldn't have followed him this long if he were like that!"

"Juan's story convinced me, lady," Amare retorted. "One man, in charge of a group, in charge of everything; pretty soon that power goes to his head. I've seen it happen."

"My dad is a good man!" Carl shouted as he pointed a finger at Amare.

Amare snorted as he shook his head. "Every kid thinks their dad's a hero," he said.

"My dad isn't a hero," Carl said. "A hero is somebody who wins a war or builds a country. My dad is a leader! He didn't ask to lead our group, it's just what happened and my dad is why our group has lived for so long!"

The expression on Amare's face went from contempt to surprise.

"If you don't believe in my dad, then we don't want you with us!" Carl shouted. "Your boss Miyaguchi, the guy who spent a year hiding supplies behind your backs and murdering your friends for it, is dead. You're free to do what you want."

Amare found that he couldn't look Carl in the eyes so he lowered his head.

Michonne put her left hand on Carl's shoulder and glared at Amare. "Are you going to leave or are you going to stay?" she asked.

"I'll stay," Amare answered meekly.

"Then shut up," Michonne ordered.

At that moment Rick drove the Dodge Grand Caravan up the exit ramp and past the survivors. Rick had just put the minivan in park when Juan drew the Beretta M9 pistol out of its holster, flipped the safety to the "off" position, and aimed it at him.

Rick glared at Juan, and said nothing.

"Drop your gun and get out," Juan ordered.

Alonso, sitting in the back seat, leaned forward. "Dios mío, what are you doing?" he asked.

"I'm doing what I have to do to save everybody," Juan answered.

Rick drew his service revolver slowly and dropped it into the foot well.

"Get out of the car," Juan ordered.

Rick opened the driver's side door and climbed out of the minivan.

Juan looked over his shoulder at Alonso, sitting in the back seat. "You too," he ordered.

Alonso nodded and slid open the rear passenger door and climbed out quickly. Juan climbed over the center console, stepped over Rick's gun, and climbed out of the minivan.

Neither Rick, or Juan or Alonso had looked in the back of the minivan at Sam, lying across the rear folding seats, and saw that he was dead.


	25. Chapter 25

**CHAPTER 25**

Daryl rode his Triumph Bonneville chopper motorcycle up the exit ramp and parked it behind the Dodge Grand Caravan. It was at that moment he noticed Rick and Alonso standing outside the minivan with their hands up. Daryl killed the motorcycle's engine and started to reach for his Colt Official Police revolver that was holstered to the gun belt wrapped around the handlebars, when Juan climbed out of the minivan with Alonzo's Beretta M9 pistol in his hand.

Juan saw Daryl from the corner of his left eye and turned towards the redneck. "Keep your hands away from that gun, asshole!" he ordered.

Daryl's hand froze.

"Off the bike!"

Daryl climbed off his motorcycle and put his hands up.

"Move!" Juan ordered as he swung the pistol towards the survivors for emphasis.

Daryl kept his hands up and moved to join the survivors standing on the highway, his Stryker Strykezone 380 crossbow was still slung over his back.

Carl ran past Michonne and to Rick's side; the boy wrapped his arms around him, and his father put a comforting hand on his son's shoulder.

Alonso kept his hands in the air as he walked quickly towards Amare and Julia.

"Where's Harold?" Julia asked worriedly.

Alonso stood in-between his two compatriots; Amare was on his right, Julia was on his left. He tilted his head slightly towards the young woman and answered, "He's dead."

Julia gasped and tears began to form in her eyes. "How?" she whispered.

"With all due respect to Harold…we've got more urgent concerns other than the details about our friend's death."

John drove the Dodge Silverado pickup truck up the exit ramp and parked beside Daryl's motorcycle. The driver's side window came down and John stuck his head out. "What the hell are you doing, Juan?" he asked.

Juan ignored the question and shouted, "Get out of the truck, John!"

John looked at the survivors and then he looked at Juan again. "Is this some kind of a joke?"

"Get out now," Juan said firmly.

John killed the truck's engine, opened the driver's side door, and climbed out.

"Your gun; throw it into the truck," Juan ordered.

John looked at Rick, and the sheriff's deputy nodded. John drew his Colt M1911A1 pistol slowly, and tossed it into the truck's cab.

"Now put your hands up and stand over there with the others."

John put his hands up and walked over to the survivors. "Have you gone crazy, Juan?" he asked.

"I'm sorry, amigo, but when this is over you'll understand," Juan said.

"I hope your wife understands, Juan," Rick said.

"She will, Rick," Juan nodded. "She will."

Juan looked at the survivors lined up in front of him and saw Michonne holding a Glock 17 pistol in her right hand. "Drop the gun, Michonne," he ordered.

Michonne glared at Juan and remained still.

"I don't want to shoot you, but I will if I have to."

Michonne knelt down, put her pistol on the ground, and stood up with her hands in the air.

Next Juan looked at Karen, held onto her M4A1 rifle nervously. "Karen, drop the rifle."

Unlike Michonne, Karen nodded; she then knelt down, put the rifle on the ground, and stood up with her hands in the air.

Rick looked to his right and left at the other survivors. "Relax everybody; I'm the one he wants."

The survivors glanced at each other quizzically and then they looked at Juan.

Carl took his hands away from Rick's waist and faced Juan. "You're…you're going to kill my dad?" he asked quietly.

Juan looked at the ground and his shoulders slumped.

Carl thought about the Governor, and then he thought about Sora Miyaguchi, a moment later his hands balled into fists. "If you kill my dad, I'll kill you," he threatened.

Sora lifted his head and some fire returned to his eyes. "I'm sorry, niño. I have to do it."

"This illegal left his brains in Mexico," Daryl quipped.

"Fuck you, gringo!" Juan shouted as he aimed his pistol at Daryl. "I haven't forgotten that you killed Floyd! I might just shoot you next!"

Daryl kept his hands in the air, but he showed no fear of Juan's threat.

"Floyd tried to kill Rick to win Sora's favor," Michonne explained. "And you heard that psychopath say Daryl and I were next. Do you think your friend would've objected to killing us too?"

Juan looked at Michonne, and lowered his gun slightly.

"And I overheard Sora's plan after he took Carl hostage: he was going to abandon his group and take Carl along in a truck he secretly loaded up with supplies! After Sora forced Carl to tell him where the prison is, he was going to cut off his arm, kill him, and tell everyone at the prison that Carl was bitten by a walker while the rest of us got swarmed!

That's the man Floyd tried to impress, Juan. So if you still want to kill Rick, you're a bigger fool than Floyd."

The three surviving members of the El Dorado group lowered their hands slightly and exchanged stunned glances.

"I thought we could trust him. I thought he would keep us safe," Julia whispered as she trembled slightly.

"All the people who were lost out here or executed in there," Alonso muttered as he nodded at the El Dorado.

"The motherfucker bluffed us like our lives were a card game," Amare said bitterly.

Juan lowered his head again and felt that his fingers around the grip of the pistol had begun to sweat.

Rick saw the remorse on Juan's face, so he took his hand away from Carl's shoulder and took a cautious step forward. "Juan," he said quietly.

Juan raised his head and looked at Rick.

"Put the gun down," Rick said.

Juan blinked and he felt the gun in his hand was now getting slippery to hold onto.

"I know you don't trust me, Juan, but I'm asking you to trust me now," Rick urged. "I'm sorry that Floyd's dead and that Sam's hurt, but my own son was kidnapped and beaten. I said this supply run would be easy, but I was wrong. I'm sorry, Juan. I'm sorry things didn't work out like I said they would, but now we have to get on the road and back to the prison."

 _Rick Grimes always knows the right thing to say. So did Sora Miyaguchi. So did Philip Blake…The Governor,_ Juan though as he stared at the prison group's leader.

The images of that night a year ago in the hills of Georgia flashed through Juan's mind.

•••

It was the first night Juan and his wife Marianna had joined Philip Blake's group. Their affable leader had returned to camp with the news that he found another group of survivors nearby.

"There's not a lot of people, but there's plenty of supplies, and we'll need both if we're going to make it to Ft. Benning," Philip said.

Philip asked Juan if he'd go with him and Nick and convince this group to join theirs, but Juan was uncertain.

"Let me put it this way: if you're going to stay with us, you need to contribute," Philip grinned.

•••

Philip, Nick, and Juan climbed into the Dodge Grand Caravan, and he drove them along an empty road for several miles, then he pulled over and they climbed out with their firearms in hand. Philip took out his flashlight pointed its beam toward a rocky path that led uphill.

"Are you prepared to kill?" Philip asked Juan.

"Sí?" Juan asked.

"Are you prepared to kill?" Philip repeated.

Beads of sweat ran down Juan's forehead. The shotgun in his hands felt as heavy as an anchor.

"Are you prepared to kill to protect Marianna?"

"Sí!" I'm prepared to kill!" Juan answered.

Philip flashed his friendly smiled and patted Juan on the shoulder. "Good," he said.

The three men started to walk up the hill, with the beam of Philip's flashlight leading the way.

•••

Philip, Nick, and Juan were standing on the edge of darkness, watching four young men sitting around a large campfire, while a fifth one stood at a barbecue grille, cooking hamburgers. They looked like they were enjoying a camping trip instead of trying to survive the end of the world. Philip signaled for him and Nick to stay put, and he walked into the light of the campfire with the barrel of his AR15 rifle aimed at the ground.

The young men screamed in fear as they leapt up or fell back at the sudden appearance of an armed stranger.

Philip smiled. "I'm sorry. I was out hunting and smelled the smoke from your campfire."

•••

Philip charmed the group of young men like he had charmed everyone else. Their leader was a rich college kid named Lance Keaton; the others included his little brother Bryan, and his friends, Caden, Kurt, and Sean. They were dirt bike enthusiasts and were going to wait out the end of the world atop this mountain. Philip called Nick and Juan out of the darkness and now everyone sat around the large campfire, laughing, eating hamburgers, and drinking beer.

Juan and Bryan were the only ones not celebrating, because they both knew something bad was about to happen.

"You told us earlier that you put your weapons away because you were going to eat dinner. If—and I know it's a big if—the biters climb up this mountain, what do you have to defend yourselves?" Philip asked.

Lance left the campfire and ran into one of the tents pitched in the background. A few moments later he ran back with a bullpup style assault rifle.

"Check this out, it's the Steyr AUG A1 assault rifle!" Lance said happily. "It fires 5.56x45mm ammo and takes a 30-round magazine! "I've watched my dad shoot this baby and it's a badass!"

Philip turned to Nick and nodded. Nick put his half-eaten hamburger down on the ground. Philip then looked at Lance again and smiled. "Well, you gentlemen certainly don't need us," he said.

Philip drew his nickel plated Beretta 92B Compact pistol, aimed it at Lance, and pulled the trigger.

BLAM!

The bullet hit Lance in the chest; he dropped the Steyr AUG A1 and fell to the ground.

Luis and Bryan screamed in unison.

Lance's college friends leapt to their feet in shock.

Nick grabbed his AR-15 rifle, aimed it at Sean, and fired.

BRAKKA! BRAKKA! BRAKKA!

•••

The smell of gunpowder now mixed with the smell of the burning logs on the large campfire. Lance lied on the ground, gasping for air, Bryan remained were he sat, shivering in fear, Sean, Kurt, and Caden were dead.

Philip looked at the frightened teenager and lowered his pistol. He turned his head to the right. "Nick," he said quietly.

Nick raised his rifle to his shoulder, aimed it at Bryan, and pulled the trigger.

BRAKKA!

The bullet struck Bryan in the forehead, and his head burst open. The rest of his body collapsed to his right at his wounded brother's feet.

•••

Philip stood over the wounded Lance. He aimed his pistol at the young man's forehead, and pulled the trigger.

BLAM!

The bullet went through Lance's forehead, and a small, thin stream of blood and brain matter shot up into the air and just missed hitting Philip.

•••

"Why did you kill them?!" Juan asked as he stood up.

Philip looked at Juan. "For the supplies and the gas. I didn't want to kill them, but that's the way the world works now."

•••

"Juan," a nearby voice called.

The voice pulled Juan out of his flashes of memory, and he saw Rick with his hand out, walking towards him slowly and cautiously.

The distant expression on Juan's face was replaced by an enraged one; he tightened his grip on the pistol and aimed it at Rick. "Move back!" he ordered.

Rick froze; all of the survivors except Daryl and Michonne gasped in shock. Carl tried to run to his father, but Michonne grabbed the boy and pulled him back.

"All right, Juan," Rick said as he nodded.

"Move the fuck back!"

Rick nodded again and moved backwards slowly; when he returned to his spot amongst the line of survivors, Carl put his arms around his arms around his waist again.

"You…you're just like the Governor and Miyaguchi," Juan said through his cleaned teeth.

Rick stared at Juan. "What?" he asked in bewilderment.

"You, the Governor and Miyaguchi; always knowing the right things to say," Juan explained. "You meet some desperate people on the road or some desperate people break into your casino, and you smile and say to them, 'Hello, friends. Sit down and have a meal. The dead—whatever you want to call them—demons, biters, walkers, oni, are gaining in numbers. You can join our group, we'd be happy to have you with us. But before you do, let's get one thing straight: I'm in charge'."

Rick shook his head. "No," he retorted, "I didn't ask for this."

"I've seen how you run things long enough to know you didn't refuse it either," Juan said contemptuously.

Rick thought about Shane Walsh, his best friend and partner in the King County Sheriff's Department, flashed before his eyes. "I…I had to accept it. Their first leader—my friend—he…wasn't good at it; there were people who got trapped or left behind in Atlanta, but he just gave up on them."

"What happened to him?"

The memory of that last night on Hershel's farm flashed through Rick's mind: he and Shane standing in a field with the full moon above them.

To Rick, there was no point in justifying what he did that night.

Rick couldn't say that Shane had freed Randall and later killed the scavenger in a plan to kill him.

Rick couldn't say that Shane lured him into the woods with the story that the group's prisoner Randall had escaped, and how insistent Shane was on the two of them splitting up from Daryl and Glenn, and how nervous he seemed the deeper they walked into the woods.

And more importantly, Rick couldn't say that before the walkers appeared, he had been in a coma after being shot in the line of duty. His wife Lori thought he died when the hospital he was being cared for was overrun by walkers, and she started an affair with Shane. The affair ended when Rick reunited with his family, but Lori became pregnant soon after and there was no way to know if Rick or Shane was the father.

None of those details would've mattered to Juan, nor did they ever assuage the guilt Rick felt over what he'd done. The image and the sound of his knife entering Shane's heart ran through Rick's head; he looked up at Juan and answered plainly, "I killed him."

Carl and Daryl remained still; Michonne looked at Rick silently, and the other survivors mumbled amongst themselves nervously.

Juan grinned triumphantly and jabbed at the air with the Beretta M9 pistol like he was putting a period to the end of a sentence. "Did you all hear that?" he asked the survivors. "Rick Grimes is a killer!"

"The law recognizes that a person has the right of self-defense," Michonne said plainly.

Juan grumbled and wiped his left hand down his face. "Madre Dios, this isn't a courtroom, Michonne!"

"No, it's not. But if you want to kill Rick, I'm going to defend him any way I can."

"Rick doesn't deserve your loyalty."

"Rick does deserve my loyalty, because he saved my life. Before the war with the Governor, that psychopath wanted Rick to hand me over as a peace offering; have me stand trial for all the boys on his so-called security team that got killed when we snuck into Woodbury, right?"

Juan nodded. "Sí, that's what he said."

"He did," John added. "But the Governor didn't strike me as a 'jury of your peers' type."

"He wasn't," Michonne said. "He had a torture chamber all set up for me in one of the warehouses."

"Isn't that where Andrea got bit?" Juan asked.

Michonne's expression softened as she remembered holding Andrea's left hand, while Andrea held Rick's gun in her right. Michonne closed her eyes and a few moments later she heard the gun's hammer click back, and a second later there was a single, loud gunshot.

BLAM!

"Yes, it was," Michonne answered.

Juan lowered his gun slightly.

"I have to admit that Rick considered the Governor's offer. I understand why; he has two children and a group to protect. But in the end he said no. A lesser man, a lesser leader, would've taken the Governor's offer in a heartbeat."

Juan now dropped his gun to his side a remorseful expression swept over his face; a moment later the memory of a conversation with his wife Marianna the day before this supply run.

•••

"Juan," Marianna said from the doorway to their cell in Cell Block D.

Juan was sitting at the iron desk bolted to the wall, and using a whetstone to sharpen his pocketknife. He looked at his wife and asked "Qué?" he asked.

Marianna stepped inside the cell. "I don't want you to go on this supply run," she ordered.

Juan sighed and folded the knife's blade into the handle. "Miel, I have to," he said sadly.

"You don't have to! Not this time!" Marianna pleaded as she knelt down beside Juan and held his hand.

"Marianna, stop it," Juan ordered as he pulled his arm away and stood up from the cell room's chair.

Marianna leapt to her feet and faced her husband. "Juan, I don't trust Rick!" she shouted.

"Miel, we're just going to get some supplies," Juan said reassuringly.

"Like you did with the Governor?" Marianna asked.

Juan sighed and rubbed his eyes, "I told you, I didn't have a choice—"

"Not after you agreed to go with him!" Marianna shouted.

"We needed those supplies."

"At what cost?"

"I've told you before that I'm sorry. I've asked God for forgiveness, but I don't think He's answered anyone's prayers for a very long time!"

•••

"Juan," a familiar voice called.

Once again, a voice pulled Juan out of his memories; he looked up and that it was John this time, looking at him with concern.

"You okay, amigo?" John asked.

Juan shook his head. "No, amigo, I'm not," he answered.

Juan looked at Rick, and raised his pistol again.

All of the survivors except Rick, Daryl, Michonne, and John gasped in shock.

"Put the gun down, Juan," Rick said bravely.

"I can't," Juan answered as tears welled up in his eyes. "I have to do this."

"I'm not the Governor, and I'm not Miyaguchi."

"You are!" Juan shouted. "And that's the scary thing about you, Rick: I spelled it all for you earlier and you still don't get it!"

"I never lied to any of you like they did!" Rick retorted.

"But you get people killed!" Juan shouted as the tears ran down his face.

Rick felt a chill run through his body at Juan's accusation; a moment later he thought about all the people who died since he became the group's leader: Amy, Jim, Jacqui, Otis, Shane, Patricia, Lori, Oscar, Axel, Lori, Merle, and now Floyd.

Juan wiped his tears away with his left hand while he held his pistol with his right hand like a duelist. "The rest of you **can't** see it, maybe you don't **want** to see it, but Rick Grimes is going to get all of you killed!" he shouted at the other survivors.

"Rick's people will say he's kept them alive this long, but what's really kept them alive is **luck!** Do all of you want to put your faith in one man? You've all done that with the Governor and Miyaguchi!

One man can't be in charge with the way the world is now; the power goes straight to their head! You saw that happen to the Governor and Miyaguchi, it will happen to Rick, too! Do you want to wait for Rick to kill someone before we stop him?"

Juan looked at Rick and a remorseful expression appeared on his face. "I'm sorry, Rick. It's not that I want to kill you…It's that I have to kill you."

Juan aimed his pistol at Rick and thumbed the hammer back.

"No!" Carl screamed.

A growl echoed from inside the Dodge Grand Caravan, and a moment later Sam—who had just turned after dying minutes ago—leapt out of the rear passenger doorway and grabbed hold of Juan from behind. The Walker Sam bit the left side of Juan's neck. Juan screamed in agonizing pain and fired a shot into the air.

BLAM!

Rick grabbed Carl's arm, pulled him to the ground, and covered his son with his own body. The other survivors fell to the ground for cover, too. Daryl remained standing; he slung his crossbow off his back, brought it up to his shoulder and thumbed the safety switch to the "off" position.

The Walker Sam bit out a chunk of flesh from Juan's neck and chewed on it greedily. Blood spurted out of the bite wound and Juan dropped the pistol and covered it up with both hands as he continued screaming. The Walker Sam swallowed its mouthful of flesh and growled angrily as blood dripped down from the corners of its mouth.

Daryl looked down the iron sights of his crossbow and pulled the trigger.

THUNK!

Daryl's arrow struck the Walker Sam's forehead; it let go of Juan and fell onto its back, dead. Juan swayed left to right for a few seconds, but he fell onto his back beside his dead friend.

Rick and Carl stood up; the survivors who had dropped their firearms earlier picked them up and stood up, too. John's eyes widened at the sight of Juan lying on the ground with his hands clutching his bleeding throat.

"Oh my God!" John shouted worriedly as he ran towards his dying friend.

The other survivors followed after John and they stood around Juan. Daryl stayed behind to take an arrow from his quiver and load it onto his crossbow.

Juan looked up at the half-dozen shocked and saddened faces that had surrounded him. He tried to talk, but he coughed up blood instead.

John knelt down and reached out to pull Juan's hands away from his neck, but then he remembered what it meant when a walker bit a person, so he withdrew his hands and tears started to well up in his eyes.

"There's…there's nothing we can do to help him," Tyrese said sadly.

Karen looked at Tyreese and said, "You're wrong. There is one thing we can do for him."

Tyreese lowered his head. "Yeah," he muttered.

Julia cried while Alonso held her in his arms. "I…I can't watch this," she pleaded.

"It's okay," Alonso said comfortingly as he led Julia away from the group.

Juan looked up at Rick and tried to speak again, but he only coughed up more blood. Juan shook his head and the last gasp of air left his throat.

"He's gone," John said as tears ran down his face.

The group of survivors said nothing. Daryl (with his crossbow slung over his back again) walked over to the dead Walker Sam, pulled his arrow out of its head, and proceeded to wipe the blood and bits of brain matter off the arrowhead with the new rag he took from the El Dorado's tavern.

Rick stepped over to his left, where Juan had dropped the Beretta M9 pistol; he knelt down, picked the pistol up, and aimed it at Juan's head.

"No," John said as he stood up. "He was my friend. I'll do it."

Rick looked at John for a moment, gave him the pistol, and stepped back. John looked down at Juan's corpse, aimed the pistol at him, and pulled the trigger.

BLAM!

The 9mm bullet struck Juan's corpse in the forehead, and a thin geyser of blood and brain matter shot up and struck John on his face.

Rick waited for the bullet's echo to drift away before he spoke to the survivors. " Carl, wait in the truck. Daryl and Michonne, you two are on point. The rest of us will search these cars for blankets to wrap Juan and Sam in."

•••

The survivors went on their assigned tasks, while Rick and John stayed with Juan's and Sam's corpses. Carl started walking towards the Dodge Ram 1500 when a familiar voice said, "Hey."

Carl stopped and looked to his left; it was Daryl, who reached behind the small of his back and pulled out Carl's Beretta 92FS pistol. "You dropped this."

Carl took the pistol, held it in the palms of his hands, and looked at it like it was a clue to a mystery. _I knew Sora was a threat the second he stepped off that elevator,_ he thought. _He wanted to kill my dad. He wanted to kill our group. He wanted to kill me. If I didn't listen to my dad I could've stopped all that with one shot from this gun._

Daryl noticed the angry expression on Carl's bruised face. "You good?" he asked.

Carl holstered his pistol and resumed walking to the pickup truck. "No," he answered.

•••

Rick looked to his left, where John stood, looking down at Juan's corpse. "I'm sorry about your friend," he said.

"You mean my friends," John corrected.

Rick remembered how three days ago Floyd mistook him for a walker and shot at him, and how today Floyd offered to execute him to win Sora's favor. "Yeah, I'm sorry about Floyd, too," he said impassively.

John looked at Rick and said, "They both had a yellow streak a mile wide, and nobody back at the prison is going to miss them, so leave them here. We're taking Juan back; for Marianna."

Rick nodded and looked down at Juan again. "He tried to tell me something before he died. I wonder what it was."

John reached into one of his jacket's pockets, took out a handkerchief, and wiped Juan's blood and brain matter off his face. "Judging by that shit he was rambling about, he either wanted say, 'You're a killer,' or 'You lucky bastard'".


End file.
